Birds of a Feather
by Blue Yeti
Summary: ACTIVE. What would another genius say when they met our dear little Arty? Why do fairies idolise the Mud Men? What would you do if you found an illness which magic can't cure? War is declared, Artemis is shot, and the Lower Elements go BOOM!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Artemis Fowl and every person, idea and concept that you would find in the Artemis Fowl books belongs to Eoin Colfer. I only own this bizarre sequence of events. 

**PROLOGUE**

Unfortunately, very soon after LEPrecon officer Short's adventure with Artemis Fowl in Russia - the events of which have been placed under top security classification with the code name: Arctic Incident – she would be meeting with the infamous villain yet again. And this time would be under even more embarrassing and traumatic circumstances than the tales of its predecessors. The situation was of great importance to all involved and the existence and secrecy of the People would once again be in jeopardy. 

It is very coincidental that so many troubling events always involve Artemis Fowl in some way, although many fairies have been shaking their heads in bewilderment at the role he has to play in the events that shall unfold in the pages before you. Many fairies that had been protesting over the treatment of Artemis Fowl (i.e. those who wished him to be memory wiped so he would not be a liability to the safety of their families and all of the Underground) have been forced to eat their words because if that had taken place then the livelihood of all People, from Atlantean to Ziigaforthians, would be at risk. 

Artemis Fowl's involvement and that of other Mud Men has not been made common knowledge and so I would ask that you do not spread this tale beyond those who you trust. If the truths that lie between these covers was to get out Merlin himself could not know what might happen. If any common Fairy who is not equip to deal with the extensive trauma that this tale of betrayal and dishonesty - on the part of our own - that this story might cause feels the need to put this down only halfway through know that you are not alone. Many cannot comprehend the truly evil deeds that have taken place and most would never want to. 

We now know what happens when Mud Men and People work together; it can be a force of great power and honour, or it can be a combination of everything we - or they - have never wished to be. 

**From the files of Professor Cumulus   
(Who is definitely more accurate than Doctor J. Argon.) **


	2. The Gravity of the Situation

**Disclaimer: **Artemis Fowl belongs to Eoin Colfer, Penguin Books and other such people. I have no claim to anything mentioned in those marvellous books but Liam Brambling, Professor Kurik and the plot of this is mine. You may only steal them with permission. 

**Author's Note:** This is going to be long. This is just an introductory chapter and is set just after book 1 at St. Bartleby's. I figured that because Artemis had not been going to a boarding school previously (it hints at that when talking about Butler), that he was new at St. Bartleby's after Christmas. There is a point to my creating a new character and Liam will be quite central to the plot. He not a Gary Stu, another child crime prodigy or anything other than human. 

This story was going to originally be a short vinaigrette without a plot and only dealing with a new character's opinion of Artemis (like one of those arty-farty HP ones about a death-eater life) but it added a plot to itself and so it will end up novel length.

* * *

**Chapter One**

The Gravity of the Situation

"Actually, genius is a highly overrated commodity. Ask almost anyone at the Farm." - Cage of Butterflies (Brian Caswell)

Artemis was definitely in a very foul mood. The fact that his own mind was supplying him with puns wasn't improving the situation much either. The time over Christmas at the manor had been so cheerful and happy but that had been ruined when his mother, Angeline, had decided to call the most prestigious boarding school in Ireland and ask if there was any place available for "her little Arty". The principal, being the brown-noser he most certainly is, offered an immediate orientation and placing in the school for a fee only slightly higher than the usual.

So here he had landed sitting in an uncomfortable leather chair, his mother on his right and Butler standing behind him, surveying the small principal with his worry-lines and an off-centre toupee. Prinicipal Guiney shifted nerviously in his chair that looked a lot more comfortable than the one Artemis was sitting in. He gave another glace towards Butler and hurredly looked back down to the neat piles of paper on his mahogany desk.

"As I was saying, I'm sure your son will be entirely happy here at St. Bartleby's. You're a gifted little boy aren't you, Artemis. Skipped a few grades haven't you? Well, we'll but put you in with the 13 year olds so they're at your level." He spoke this in the voice one uses to address small children while you tell them that the toothfairy doesn't exist. Artemis could see through to the subliminal meaning: 'not another one of these snotty kids whose parents are so proud of him they can't see the fact that the kid is a rotten, imperious, know-it-all.' 

He looked over at Mrs Fowl again. "Where was Artemis going to school before winter break? I'm sure that his previous school also … objected to the presence of your 'butler' on the school grounds. I afraid we don't allow for any personal staff for any of the students here. We teach independence and highlight discipline, and your bodyguard will not be allowed on the grounds. If you'd like to follow me I'll show you some of the facilities at this college. Artemis–" he had changed to his young idiot voice again. "…If you'd like I can show your mother around and Fletcher here can show you to your dorm." He pointed his hand with the stubby red fingers to a prefect of about 16 years.

Artemis shrugged and followed the prefect from the office. He could feel his freedom slipping away before his very eyes.

* * * * *

Liam Brambling's life took a decisive turn for the worse on the first day of term after the winter holidays. Of course, he didn't know it just yet but the idea that life sucks would cross his mind more than once on that cold day. 

It had seemed to be just another boring, mundane start of term, until Principal Guiney stood up, tapped the microphone with one hairy finger and said in his expanded monotone: "I hope you will all join together in welcoming our new student, Artemis Fowl the Second. Fowl will you stand up, please."

A boy two rows in front of Liam, and slightly to the right stood up. He was slightly shorter than average but was probably about 12, the same age as Liam. He was wearing the self-contented look that sat on 99.8% of the faces in the assembly hall. The other 0.2% was taken up with Doctor Shortis: the Psychologist who _knew_ he had every mental disease in the book. And Mrs Heyney: the Religious Ed teacher who was so unsure of herself that she gave everyone A+'s on their assignments because she didn't want any students to dislike her. They did anyway.

The kid sat down again, smoothing down his blazer. He still thinks he is special, even in a room full of people so special Only Child and Golden Boy syndromes ooze from every pore. It was almost laughable in the predicability. He'll be pampered by the staff because they know that who ever Artemis Fowl the First is, will have their resignations (or heads) if his darling little boy isn't treated just right. And when he gets to his dorm tonight he'll probably start bragging and his dorm mates will put him in the top bed of the bunk with the removable supports. And about midnight he'll come crashing down to the reality of St Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen. Liam almost laughed at the mental image. Almost.

Principal Guiney finished his speech which, as always, had 3 second pauses between each clause of each sentence and made it look like he was in kindergarden, reading from a big poster of first words. Finally eight hundred boys rose as a single organism from their hard blue seats and flowed out the door like so much sewage. Liam checked his diary. Science and Commerce before morning break. He could survive that. Well that's what he thought.

* * * * *

You may need some background information on Liam Brambling before you come to any conclusions about how bad this latest development will be to his ego and his life at St. Bartleby's. The Bramblings weren't a particularly old family in the grander scheme of things (only being able to trace their line back 12 generations). The family is based in Wales, but Liam's grandfather was quite rebellious in the fact that he had two sons instead of the customary one. Liam's father, the younger son by name of Ferran Brambling, moved to Ireland when he came of age so that he would not be competing with his elder brother, Christopher Brambling the Eigth. Liam's mother was an Irish woman with a rather peculiar inclination towards what she considered "being in touch with nature". And for this reason Liam's younger sister is named Jacaranda. It should also be noted that "Brambling" is the name of a rather insignificant type of bird and Niamh Brambling thought she was being rather witty when she wanted to name her son "Swallow", after yet another small brown bird – thankfully Liam's father disapproved.

Liam had been packed off to snob boarding school at the age of 7 to "shape his personality" and they finally figured out that he was exceptionally intelligent, having not know previously that teaching yourself the Latin language was unusual at the age of 6. They did an IQ test and discovered that technically Liam was a genius. It gave Niamh another thing to boast to her friends at the Country Club: Her darling son who was so good with his little sister has an IQ of 154. Liam didn't resent her for that because it was better for him if she had a hobby to distract her from reality. 

He did resent the fact that his genius, however spectacular, was specialised. He could learn a new language completely in mere weeks and crack any code put before him, but in schoolwork he was only amazing rather than Earth-shattering. It was in his opinion that it wasn't very hard to be amazing at St. Bartleby's because the teachers had to act cautious around the students and give everyone high marks. And the students themselves are the results of generations of breeding for strong chins and wide foreheads, and so some Darwinism has taken place in the direction of looks and away from the cerebral. 

This form of evolution becomes painfully obvious to Artemis Fowl when he walks into his first class for that morning: Science. 

Something shall also become painfully obvious to Liam Brambling because until now he has never met someone who is more intelligent than himself. It shall be quite an education. 

* * * * *

Fletcher had pointed him in the direction of the science labs and had then left Artemis to find his own way there, strutting off to his own class with his nose so high in the air it had left the atmosphere behind. It was quite frankly amazing that he hadn't dropped dead from trying to breathe in the vacuum of space. It wasn't difficult to find the right class, not for Artemis anyway. Only about half of the students were there, and those present were all talking even though the professor was standing at his desk looking around at the class in a pathetic, pleading sort of way. He spotted Artemis at the door and hurried over with a hopeful smile plastered all over his round bald head.

"You're the new boy aren't you? I'm so happy to have a new student in my class, it makes for a refreshing look on what we've been learning. We've been doing a subject on forces at the moment and I hope you'll be able to catch on. Well, if you're still having trouble when we're almost through I won't make you sit the test for it. I do so enjoy having a new student. A new mind all ready to learn and fill up with science and maths and other such stuff. What did you say your name was?"

"Fowl…um…Sir."

"What a fine, fine name to have young man. I'm your professor and I hope you're a science nut like me. Why don't you sit over there next to Brambling, he'll be able to answer any question you might have about the work we're doing. He's a very bright young lad, all full of enthusiasm and energy. Sit, sit!"

The professor, who hadn't even mentioned his name, had been pointing over to the only boy in the fourth row. He was rather Gothic, was probably very tall if he didn't slouch so much and had one of the most uninterested expressions on his face that Artemis had ever seen, and he included reflections in that equation.

The boy, Brambling, looked Artemis up and down with a soft smile. "So…which breed are you." Artemis raised a questioning eyebrow as he sat down. "There are only two ways to get into this school; money and/or connections. So either Artemis Fowl the First is a criminal or a politician. Both crooks but that's life."

"My father is missing. His ship sunk en route to Russia about a year ago."

"So he was a criminal and the Mafiya wanted him dead." Artemis was careful to keep his face as expressionless as the other boy's and so simply raised the other eyebrow. "Don't worry your head kid, as I said we're all the sons of crooks. My father is involved in making sure the brothel trades in Belgium doesn't fall. Someone's got to be doing the dirty work, may as well be us rich and noble buggers."

Artemis looked at the tall boy in an appraising manner. He was obviously quite shrewd and very observant really. A possible asset to exploit maybe? "I take it you're not an optimist?"

"Oh, I'm just a realist kid, just a realist. My parent don't listen to me when I say know more than Professor Kurik over there and so I just sit through, get 100% on my tests and watch the idiots around me ogle and seethe. As if you can send an intellect like mine to a school for the moronically rich and still expect me to be more than a social retard. Oh, well, I have my games to play. I've almost made the psychiatrist insane. Sampson's holding the books for how long it'll take. See, as I said, we're all crooks. Don't you talk much or something?"

"You think you're smart don't you?"

"And you think you're smart by not answering questions. It just makes you look like the weedy little brat that you are. And I don't think I'm smart. I just am and there is nothing you or I can do about it." 

Brambling smiled in a self-deceptive way, shrugging his shoulders and glancing around at the class, where only 4 boys were coping down the information from the blackboard. "You'd think at these fees they could afford to install some new equipment like whiteboards. It's just so they look rustic and traditional. There are inkwells in the computer labs! Anyway, it's not hard to be the smartest in a group like this; a common rat is more intellectual than this class of ours. Why am I even talking to you? You're as brain-dead as the rest of these pretty boys. I swear I'm becoming another one of those suicidal maniacs. And people wonder why genii burn out early?"

"What make you think you're a genius? Anyone slightly more intelligent than the average mob thinks they're special. You're just another wannabe. You don't fit into the normal and so you think you must fit into the elite. It's a nice idea. You did say you're a realist though." Artemis sat back to watch the results of his little legitimacy test. He didn't have to provoke him at all to find out about his opinion of the world in its entirety. That boy really needed a hobby. 

"A Brambling is a bird, right? Small, brown, got a little 'tak' noise. What's your first name?" Artemis's had a small smirk on his face as the other boy murmured something unintelligible. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Liam. Not like you can talk. What sort of name is 'Fowl'! And Artemis was a Greek Godd_ess_. I don't care about your opinion anyway, you're just another pretty boy without a life."

It was at that point that a fat boy in the second row cleared his throat like a bullfrog and asked Professor Kurik how they create zero gravity to train Astronauts for space. The boy clearly wasn't expecting or even wanting an answer, and had simply asked it to see the stuttering and open-mouthed look on his teacher's face as he stuttered to find an answer other than "I don't know". The Professor tried to seize the metaphorical backdoor before it slammed and indicated for Brambling to answer the question instead.

Kurik sank down behind his desk with the look that many may have during a midlife-crisis and fumbled with something in the drawer of his desk. The class had suddenly fallen silent and turned in their seats prepared for a load of tech-no-babble that nobody could ever hope to understand. Brambling coughed nervously, "Um… I don't think we can actually get rid of gravity at all. The astronauts and cosmonauts usually just train for Null G in water." He let out a breath as most of the class shrugged and swivelled back around to face the front or their friends.

Artemis smiled and answered. "They also do training in specially designed planes. They take them to a certain altitude and do into a complete nosedive; the speed of the fall gives the closest simulation to what Null Gravity would feel like. There are also theoretical methods, which are only in the mathematical formulas now, of ways to create the effects of gravity, like they use in StarTrek. If they could create the effects of gravity then you could use it to balance out the effect of the Earth's gravity and so create the illusion and effect of Zero G's. It would also be useful in moving from one place to another and would make air transportation cheaper because of the reduced effort it would take to leave the surface of the planet."

The class had all turned back around to look at Artemis and he gave them a small grin before looking down at his books. Professor Kurik clapped his hands together excitedly, "I've heard about that. It's so gratifying to find someone else who takes such an interest in the wonders of physics. Thankyou for that explanation. Did that answer your question, Bell?"

Artemis turned to Brambling who was glaring at him in a way that would make milk curdle. He gave an innocent look and said, "You know genii, having to immerse themselves in theoretical aspects because of reduced social stimuli."

"So you're a conceptual mathematics genius, are you? Like Einstein and Hawkins? I'm language and code myself. If you ever need a completely new language deciphered in a week, I'm your man."

"A week? I did that in a day and a half. My speciality is that I don't have one."

"Like DaVinci?" Brambling sounded almost scared by the prospect.

"Like DaVinci."

* * *

**Another Author's note** Please point out any mistakes I've made or tell me about how you think things should go from here. Brownie points to anyone who can tell from what book I got the name "Brambling", and also the book where I found the name "Kurik". I'll reply to reviews at the end of next chapter. 

* * *


	3. Colour Honour Orange

**Disclaimer:** The People and Mud Men belong to Eoin Colfer and almost everyone mentioned in this chapter belongs to my deranged mind.  I would say you can steal them with permission, but nobody ever does.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is all about the fairies.  Yah, for those that like them and sux for those that don't.  This has taken the place of Camembert and Calcium Carbonate as the second chapter because these things had to happen soon.  Sorry if that makes it a tad confusing. 

Huge thanks go to Ivycreeper, Moonwolf, Wierdo, Kitty Rainbow and CyberGhostface for reviewing the last chapter.  And Ghostface, I was going to review one of your stories before but then you said that and so I decided not to.  I probably will anyway but…  And special thanks to Big Friendly Walrus who had such insightful reviews until he was taken off FF.net - taking two of my reviews with him.

**Warning: **A violent and angsty scene below.  The reason I've changed the rating to PG-13, just to be safe.  There is also mention of a homosexual relationship but this is just life and I didn't so much as have them kiss.  And it does have a purpose in later chapters.   

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Colour honour orange

SON: What is a traitor?

LADY MACDUFF: Why, one that swears and lies.

SON: And be all traitors, that do so?

- MACBETH Act 4; Scene 2; line 46-48 

Artemis Florists were having a decisively bad year when the part owner, by name of Cypress Lake, gave in to his impulses and started working for the Anti-Atlantis Association.  The florist had been one of the leading stores in the underground until the fateful day when the LEP were out smarted by a Mud Boy by name of Artemis.  Cypress and his partner, Willow Wattle, had been considering changing the name to Persephone to help deal with the bad publicity but the cost of re-registering with the Haven Biochemist Guild was too expensive on their waning budget.  They only sales they were getting were bridal and funeral bouquets and the flowers needed in the naming rites for a newborn.

And it was with this hanging over his head that Cypress accepted when an 'Associative' approached him to be the group's biochemist.

Unfortunately for him, he was not aware of the Associations ambitions and the methods they intended to invoke to achieve these outcomes.  Most people would be quite curious as to why a terrorist organisation would require the skills of a flora biochemist - especially a group such as the Anti-Atlantis Association.  If Cypress had asked himself these questions at the time, things would have been a lot better off for him.  He may have even survived his 78th birthday.

* * * * *

The Anti-Atlantis Association is hailed as the most unsuccessful terrorist group to have ever existed.  Most of its members are fat, red-necked fairies from the outlying provinces who didn't so much protest to the Atlantean Communist government structure as envy the way it works so well.  These types of people resent the good and gentle life that the Atlantean's live and are petty in their terrorism and cause.  They were ridiculed and shrugged off until the time when one sprite rose through the ranks of the Association until his power was felt by almost everyone.  Quentin Thyme was far more ambitious than any Associative that had come before him.  He had plans for bringing the Atlantean's back down to where they belonged and he would be ruthless in his methods to eventuate these ideals.

            He craved revenge and power over others.  He wished that everyone else would be aware of his ideals and be so terrified that they would become something they had never wished to be in an effort to please him.  That was power.  It wasn't as if he wanted to take over the world or anything.  He just wanted it to work to his wishes.  Ruling the world would be a lot of wasted effort to gain a heap of paperwork.  But to control the world… That was something to look forward to.  He was ruthless and efficient in coming out on top of any argument.  So much so that anyone who had ever been close enough to shake his hand shook in their boots at the very mention of his name.  They knew what it was to fear someone completely.  His closest Associatives fear a glare more than they fear their own deaths.  That was real power.

            Quentin was obsessed with the power of fear ever since he had seen a fairy whose terror of falling was so great that he had stayed inside a burning building rather than jump from the 5th floor window.  Most had shook their heads and sighed over the loss, wondering what on earth could have compelled the fairy to stay inside and burn.  But Quentin knew.  The fairy had had such a fear of heights that he would rather die than face up to this fear.  It was rather romantic in an idiotic way.  The idiocy lying in how he feared something so much that he couldn't think and the romance in the absolute control.  People would live a horrid life, not pushing past any boundaries, because of their fear of the unknown.  Quentin saw this and dreamed of harnessing that fear, making it work for his own gain.

            And so he surreptitiously joined the Anti-Atlantis Association as his façade and powerbase.  But he had plans that spread further than the petty revenge on people with good and simple lives.  He wanted them to be the first to fear him completely.  So that they would all know his name and fear it when spoken.  He wanted to have the power to make people stay inside to die rather than face him alone.  That was something more real than life.          

* * * * *

            Quintin swaggered into the 158th general meeting of the Anti-Atlantis Association. His presence immediately cowed his advisers – Basil Rune, Jason Palm and Billi Frond (Corporal Frond's elder brother) - who had been having a 'spirited negotiation' until Quentin's entrance cut them short.  Quentin gave a short smile of the type that you might see on a shark, and immediately took control of the situation.  The three Associatives fled to their seats, which were arranged in a semi-circle around a chair that was only slightly more ostentatious than the others.  Quentin could have had a throne but he believed in the power of a person rather than the power of a position.  Anyone could be chairman of a company but only a certain type of person would be able to run it flawlessly.

            The advisers cast some furtive looks at each other but did not dare to do anything more as Quentin sat and carefully folded his wings against the back of the seat.  When he looked up all the eyes were focused on the floor in an effort to not have to meet the eyes of the tyrant.  And tyrannical dictator he was, because a leader lets others have opinions and voice them.  A leader relies on the input and ideas of those beneath him but a tyrant just considers the person in their entirety beneath him.  Quentin has absolute control over anyone who had ever crossed his path - within the Association or outside.  The members treated him as such - regretting their connection with an organisation that has quickly become fatally serious and talking blasphemy about Thyme behind his wings.  

            It had become war very quickly once Quentin gained command of the A-A Associatives.  He was known to quote from the books and events of the Mud Men as examples of cruelty to follow.  Kill as many innocents as possible.  Strike when the enemy in unprepared and vulnerable.  Make then fear to speak your name.  Be the BoogieMan.  Frighten into submission.  Don't back down.  Don't be lenient.  Don't care about anything other than the cause.

            It was enough to make even the sturdiest fairy shudder.

            "We are in for a treat today, boys."  Said Quentin.  His tone insulting but nobody would dare to challenge him.  "Would somebody care to open the door."

            Basil, Jason and Billi looked at each other nervously for the split second before the first knock was heard at the door.  It was a small and timid knock, probably made by a very nervous and sweaty hand, and the thick oak of the door muffled the sound further.  The three of them jumped to their feet and hurried to the door - Jason taking hold of one handle and Billi the other while Basil stood in the middle holding an electric lantern.  The knock sounded again, sounding even shakier than before, if such a thing was even possible.  Basil looked to Quentin for conformation, ready to count in Billi and Jason but saw the slightest turn of the wrist and curve of his thin lips.  Basil beaconed to Billi to sit back down and Jason was left holding the door handle until a third half-hearted knock was heard.  The lights were dimmed and the chairs cast in shadow when Jason slowly swung the door forwards.  

            "Um … hello?" said a voice that was almost as shy as the knocking had been.  The speaker was a young elf who had a Cypress wood bangle encircling his wrist and long red hair flopping over his face in a pudding haircut.

            "Hello, Lake.  I take it you have the … special merchandise.  We would really dislike if you were to ask for another extension.  This project should not have taken as long as it has.  We are rather disappointed in your efforts.  We have had to delay our other engagements because of your incompetence."

            Basil Rune wondered briefly if Quentin always talked in the Royal "We".  It would explain quite a lot of things and he was sure that, like himself, none of the other Associatives were particularly eager for this projects operation.

"Of course I do.  But it will take more work to provide you and your men with the immunity you have asked for.  It is quite a difficult task; it's not like this was covered in my flora biology course.  Sometimes time is the only answer."

"Show it to me."

Quentin was excited if he was dropping his imperious speech, not that he needed it for total control.

Cypress' hand shook as he reached into his bag and pulled out a sealed wooden case of vials.  Half the vials containing a bright orange liquid and the others appearing empty but in fact holding a clear gas.  "The gas is the base product.  Hold it in a contained space made of a metal - any metal has the same effect - and add a drop or two of the orange.  The explosion should be enough to spread the product 10 klicks and any fairy within that radius will be effected if they haven't had the immunisation.  Being closer to the epicentre will speed up the effects, so if the person detonating has not had the immunisation they will most probably … die … within 20 minutes."  Cypress' voice was quite monotonic and steady until he got to the word 'die' when it cracked and he had to hold back an uncontrolled sob.

"Tell me, how old are you Lake?"

"Um … 77"

"Ahh, 77.  What a wonderful age to be.  I'm 79 myself.  Your birthday?"

"Um … tomorrow, Sir."

"Today, since it's 9 past midnight.  Won't you have something special happening on your birthday.  These are the antidotes, yes?"  Quentin had risen gracefully from his seat and was pointing towards the pale brown vials on the other side of the case.  Lying alongside was a packet of injecting needles.

"Yes, Sir" said Cypress, relieved to be back on normal conversation.  "It has to be injected into the bloodstream within 30 minutes of being exposed to the virus but this is also effected by how close the person was to the blast and also the particulars of the victim's body.  It is still quite reliable, though.  Very hard to create the formula but it works in all my simulations, which are based on every conceivable situation.  I'm quite proud of how it turned out."

"You should be more proud of the virus than the antidote."

"Nature can create a virus, but only some can create a cure."

"You still have not given this a practical test have you?"  He said, twirling a brown vial between his fingers.

"Um … no.  But that shouldn't be necessary, it works properly.  If I could just leave now, I'll get working on the immunity right away.  Wouldn't want to waste valuable Associative time when I could be helping.  I'll just see myself out shall I?  I wouldn't want to impose on any more of your time, Mr Thyme.  Ha.  That was funny, wasn't it? I really - "

"_I really think you should stay.  Is it true that if you inject the orange formula straight into the body - in a higher dose of course - it has the same effect as being caught in an explosion?"_

Cypress made an effort to shake his head but this was almost unnoticeable because of the shakes that wrecked his entire elvish body.  

"I think that would be a valid test, don't you?  We've got to cover all possible hypothesis."  

The box of vials had dropped out of Cypress' hands because of his fear and he could only stare in disbelief as Quentin stooped to pick up a needle and a container of orange.  He sucked the contents into the needle and gripped Cypress by the arm.  This was only the first time Quentin had touched him, but he had been so frozen in fear that it was as if he had been holding him in a death grip from the moment he had walked into the room.  

Cypress' eyes misted over as the orange virus was injected into his system.   

* * * * *

Quentin smoothed his clothes down and returned to his seat.  After twenty minutes of watching Cypress writhe in pain on the floor, he became slightly bored and walked out of the room without looking back.

* * * * *

Basil leapt to his feet and peered around the door to make sure Quentin was really gone.  When nothing had happened in a minute he breathed out and nodded to Billi and Jason.  They both rushed to kneel by Cypress' side and just as Billi was about to reach out and turn him over, Basil caught the poised hand.  He shook his head and pulled his jacket off.  Covering his hands in the fabric he carefully reached out and rolled the elf onto his back.  His eyelids were fluttering in semi-consciousness and his breathing was fast and shallow.  Purple welts were appearing beneath his eyes and at the corners of his lips but these were overshadowed by the horrendous yellow shade his face had turned.

            Basil made some small movements with his hand and Jason stood and carefully pulled a brown vial from the wreckage of the wooden box.  Billi retrieved a needle from the packet that had been thrown across the floor and roughly handed it to Basil while looking away because there were tears of pain and grief welling in his eyes.  Basil filled the needle and quickly injected it into Cypress' arm about 3 inches above the orange virus injection.

            Cypress' eyes burst open as the needle penetrated his arm and although they couldn't focus he could see the shapes of the fairies above him.  He sighed as the pain that had been filling his body lessened slightly and he was filled with an airy peace.  The breath was let out slowly and he could almost see the colours on the face that was hovering above him.

            "Will you be alright?  Do you know what will happen?"  asked one of the hovering blurs.

            Cypress made an effort to shrug his shoulders but the movement brought the pain back and his eyes bulged as his body made furious involuntary movements.  It subsided again and he looked up into the smudged face of Basil.

            "Can't his magic heal him?" asked another voice off to the side.

            "No, Billi.  The virus is especially designed to be immune to a fairy's magic.  Even if we gave him our own magic it wouldn't help.  If the antidote doesn't work, he will die."

            Cypress struggled to move his head and then settled for trying to move his lips.  "But… the immunity … why? … I'm … only-" his voice was so weak that if a breeze had blown through the room his words would have been lost to the air.

            "I don't kn… Why would Quentin try to kill you when you're the only one who can make the immunisation?  Is that it?"  Cypress moved his chin slightly in a nod.  "He wants us to die."

            "But…"

            "He wants us to be martyrs for the cause.  Like the Mud Men who strap bombs to their body and die to take out a few of the enemy.  No one is worth anything to _him.  He didn't even save his father from a building when it was burning down and he was watching it.  I'm sorry for this happening to you.  I'm sorry for even knowing you Cy."_

            Cypress gave a small smile and shook his head at Basil.  He opened his convulsing mouth but couldn't move it enough to say the words he wanted to.

            "Cy, tell me.  Is there any way that we could destroy the virus?  Quentin doesn't have the formula and so if we get rid of these vials he wouldn't be able to use it.  He's planning to send this into a shuttle station in peak-hour.  In a holiday time so that entire families will die.  He wants to be known all over the underground.  We can't let him do that."

            "I… pleas-" Cypress stopped trying to make his mouth move the way it should and stuck his arm out towards Basil.

            "Oh, no.  I'm not going to do that to you Cy!  There's another way, isn't there?  We'll find some other way to get rid of it."

            Cypress shook his head slowly.  "We can't … let … please."

            Tears streaking down his face, Basil nodded.  He picked up the orange vials and a new needle.  He extracted the liquid slowly while tears blurred his vision and Cypress watched his face - memorising everything about him.  Basil, forgetting about not touching him, picked up Cypress' left arm and slowly pushed the contents of three orange vials into his body.  Cypress half yelled out and his breathing became harsh and shallow, but he managed to open his eyes again and nodded.  Basil took the next needle, which Jason had filled, and chose a spot on Cypress' upper arm to inject.  When the poison was absorbed by his body his hips and shoulders moved off the ground in an effort to push away from the virus invading his system.  His eyes could barely open to nod for the final injection.  Basil took it reverently from Jason and softly smoothed over a patch of Cypress' right arm.  He bit his lip to stop a sob escaping as he rested the point of the needle on the exposed skin.  Cypress looked up with tears of pain in his eyes.

            "Love you, Bas." he choked.

            And Basil slowly pushed the needle tip into the flesh.

            Cypress' body spasmed one more time before his eyes closed and his mouth hung open, unmoving.  His skin was a sickly blue-yellow and the purple welts had covered most of the flesh around his eyes, nose and mouth.  Basil lightly brushed his hand across his face and slowly smoothed the red pudding hair back as he lay him on the floor.  He bent to give a small kiss to the crown of his head and whispered "I love you too."

            A tear fell to the floor as Jason pulled Billi away from the body - to give their friend some peace.    

* * *

Strange thing in this chap is the name 'Cypress Lake'.  Cypress Lakes is a health retreat/resort company in the Hunter Valley, Australia.  They are actually going bankrupt and are trying to sell before their patrons catch on.  And 158 is my favourite number.  Hopefully Princess Karita won't flame me for having a gay couple, even though life states that 1 out of 5 are homosexual or bisexual


	4. The Colour of Magic

**Disclaimer: Um... nothing mentioned in this chapter belongs to anyone else.  It's all mine!  ALL MINE!!! Muah HA ha AHHHAAAh!  No, actually, the wonderful Holly Short has a moment of screen time here.  And the whole idea of the fairy Underground belongs to Eoin Colfer and publishers, of course.**

**Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long but I've been trying to create the background and also work out the sequence of events that are to happen in this little ficcy of mine.  Loads of things have to happen and I had to fit them all in one chapter.**

India and Pakistan are currently very agro about who owns Kashmir and this is what I've based some… stuff on.  At the end of last year a group of Pakistani separatists did barge into India's parliament and while nobody died, some were injured.  They almost went to war after that but they "Stuck together for the sake of Cricket." I've taken this event and twisted it to suit my purposes for this fic.

Thanks for reviewing since last major update go to **Lady Game x3 (who also stayed awake when I was trying to explain my plot to her.  She is completely inhuman.), ****Eleida x2 (I love quotes.  I've got all these Terry Pratchett ones which I've been trying to put in here somewhere.)****, AnimeFanatic07 (great to see you writing your own stuff now.)****, Ivycreeper x2 (again I say: "YOU CAN QUOTE ME!!!!")****, Karita-chan (joke.  joke.)****, Kitty Rainbow (Hey, I already replied to this.)****, glitter kitty (what is with all the kitties here at AF. The Yetia nd the Walrus might decide to have a Kitty soufflé sometime.  ::grin::) ****, Paige Turner (I love your name.)****, Skye Firebane (What is with everyone loving Quentin.  I personally feel like having him hung, drawn and quartered.)****, corpal grub (Thanks for the encouragement, anything's appreciated by sad folk like me.)****, Stardust Firebolt x3 (I've been trying to make this real for the current political situation.  I'm glad you appreciate that.)****, Eleida again (you're… you're… babbling.)****, lishyu (Thanks.)****, Darth gryph (I hope you've read some more stories by now.  And I was the main protester for Big Friendly Walrus rights.  I almost regret that now)****, polyjuicepotion (I appreciate you pointing out mistakes like that.  I'm an Aussie and we have 13 years for Kindie to year 12 so I really don't know what I'm talking about.  I based it all on Hogwarts.)**** Miriam (Well, I'm giving him a first name!  Whether he likes it or not.)**

**Chapter Three**

The Colour of Magic

"The good, the bad, and the blur in between."

- Dark Angel

Just under a year ago two things happened.  The first was insignificant in comparison to the second, but it still happened and it still effected how things might turn out in the long run.  Liam Brambling started to write.  This began as an exercise but it soon became something more as people listened to and heeded what he said.  About the political situation or the way the world seems to work compared to the way it actually does work and even an article about the psychological when it comes to IRA members.

            The second event was much more noticeable.  On a hot stifling morning in January a trio of Pakistani separatists, said to be funded by the Pakistani government, barged into India's parliament house in New Delhi and started shotting.  Well, not quite barged, but the effect was the same: the Leader of the Opposition, one Samuel Harash, the most probable Prime Minister for the future, was dead.

* * * * *

The thick smog that hung over the three men as they skulked in the dark is not there simply for the purpose of hiding their doings from the rest of the world as is expected in stories and Hollywood.  The smog existed because New Delhi is generally a smoggy and polluted place and this is a constant cover for the numerous cutthroats and petty thieves that make a living by hiding in the shadows.  But these three Pakistani men with cloth wound around their heads were much more important than any thieves.  Although they are in the business of thievery, they deal in stealing lives away from their owners.

They were standing just outside the shadows of a huge pair of wrought iron gates that were the only entrance into the complex.  The walls were thick and made of stone with a high parapet decorating the top.  The ancient features to stop intruders - such as impregnable high stone walls - were still in place but for those that really needed to get in unnoticed, a section of the eastern wall which backed onto an unsavoury alley was decrepit enough to allow people to clime.  The alley's entrance was held by a thief who changed a high fee for anyone to get in but for these three men it would all be worth it.  

                The leader of the group - Mohammed - gave a small gesture with his right hand and the two trained rebels, Jahanjir and Kamerr, came up beside him with soundless footsteps.  A guard was seen slowly moving past the lighted area around the parameter of their object.  The man halted in the shadows next to the building and didn't come out after a minute.  The three watchers saw the tinny flicker of a match as the guard stopped for a roll-your-own cigarette.  Mohammed nodded to Kamerr on his left and took point as the trio moved slowly around the side towards the famous alleyway.  They passed the man with a nod and he backed away to hide in the shadows; these weren't the usual type he had to deal with.  

                Then Kamerr took of his jacket and was halfway up the fallen wall before either of the other men could blink.  When he established himself at the top he slowly unwound a light-weight rope from around his waist, tied an end to a convenient hook in the stone and let the loose end slide down the wall to rest at Mohammed's feet.  Jahanjir stepped forward and quickly and silently secured the rope to a heavy bag that had been slung over his shoulder.  He gave two tugs to check that it was secure and then Kamerr noiselessly pulled it up, his muscles bulging as he did so.  After a minute the rope slid down again and Mohammed gestured for Jahanjir to take it first and he shimmied up just like they had done in training.  The rope came back down and Mohammed grasped a hold of it, pulling himself up hand over hand.

                At the top of the wall they had a short rendezvous before jumping down on the other side.  They crept along the side of the main building always staying in the shadows, only stopping once to wait for a guard to pass.  They found the basement window that their inside man had left open and quickly slipped inside.  Here they first distributed the contents of Jahanjir's shoulder bag and then split up - Mohammed taking the path to the east gallery in the main hall, Jahanjir finding a place behind the organ-pipes and Kamerr going to the northern end behind a large ornamental and elevated fountain.  In about 5 hours this hall would be filled with all the important officials and deputies that littered the failing Indian Federal Government.  

                The cleaners came in after about an hour and the caterers about an hour after them.  The three Pakistani's crouched in their spots and waited.  Mohammed absent-mindedly was polishing the device beside him.  The first of the officials made their way into the hall about 30 minutes before schedule.  15 minutes later most of the hall had been filled except for the really important members and the Prime Minister who could arrive late if he really wanted to and nobody would be able to do anything about it.  They had to hold their positions until the main target was there.  

                Mohammed saw their inside man on the floor and gave a curt nod.  The man, who was holding a platter of expensive and minuscule food, met his eye then quickly turned to a Jaipur man in a tailored suit.  He was once again watching the main doors when gun shots from the northern end brought his attention round.  Kamerr's position behind the fountain had been compromised and already the security forces were spreading out and making their way towards him.  Mohammed saw the slight glint of Jahanjir's barrel from behind the pipes, he nodded then stood with his own gun resting on his shoulder.  He, unlike the panicking Kamerr, was taking the time to aim and swiftly took down a security officer with a shot to the knee and another with a bullet in his right hand.  One of the others was taken down by a lucky shot from Kamerr and the last by Jahanjir's carefully aimed sniper-shot.

                To say that there was pandemonium was an understatement.  All the high and mighty politicians were creeping low underneath the seats and the entire room was in shambles by all the people rushing for an exit.  New security officers were running into the room and taking aim at the exposed figure of Kamerr.  He shot one in the shin but the man still got off a shot that landed in his Kamerr's belly.  Mohammed could see the pain of his face as he toppled over; it was being too optimistic to think that he might live.  

                Already the other guards were scanning the galleries to see where the other shots were coming from.  He quickly shot at the closest guard before moving in a crouching run towards his left.  Most of the guards were now firing at the place where he had just been but one of the men was shotting slowly in a row towards where he was now crouched.  He had to move again.  He did so but in getting up he stood just a fraction too high so that the tip of his head was showing above the low barrier.  The guard who had been tracking him saw and took aim at the spot exactly where Mohammed now was.  On impulse, he gripped the out-dated Pakistani Military dog-tags that still hung around his neck and tried to breathe through the fear that had a hold on him.  

                Just as the man was raising his rifle onto his shoulder with an inhuman precision of movement he fell forward onto his knees with Jahanjir's second shot between his shoulder blades.  Mohammed let his breath out.

                The other guards saw where the shot must have come from and turned to fire upon the organ at the other end of the room.  The bullets spun, rebounding off the pipes and Mohammed could see movement from his high vantage point as one refracted inwards and inevitably caught his fellow in the torso.  

                Mohammed leapt to his feet and began firing on anything that moved without caring about taking cover.  He gave some possibly fatal shots to the shotting security men and then turned his attention towards the civilians that were huddled in one corner away from the action.  If he was going to go he may as well go out with a bang.  He landed one in a woman's back and another hit a tall man in a dark brown suit.  He dimly felt a bullet land in his side but he had known it would happen.  Then he saw him.  A man, who while not being the target, was almost as good.  They would not be able to complete their mission but he could try to make as much impact as was possible.  He took aim and with a steady arm shot the man between his brows.  The man slowly fell without so much as a look of surprise.

Mohammed followed soon after.

* * * * *

The stars were bright, cheerfully twinkling in the cold sky while William Wattle shivered beside his twin sister.  They were standing around the ceremonial funeral pier of Cypress Lake who had died in a lab accident only a few days ago.  It was a sad thing to happen because he had been doing last minute work on a modified orchid before going to his own surprise birthday party.  They had sat together in the dark for an hour until they knew that something had definitely gone wrong.  William rubbed the shoulders of his sister and tried to think of something - anything - else.

            Willow leaned into his body to find warmth and blinked back tears.  Basil Rune, Cypress'  (she shuddered) lover, picked up a fallen twig from the cypress trees that surrounded the clearing and blue sparks fired up its length as he payed homage to his … friend.  He walked over to the Lake family and one by one each member touched it and lent some of their own magic to farewell Cypress.  Willow gave a week smile as even his baby sister's hand was placed around the twig and pale sparks moved along.  Little Petal probably didn't even know what had happened.  

Basil then approached her with the now shining twig.  She reached out a hand but she could barely draw her magic to her.  If she gave her magic that would mean that he was really gone and she didn't know what she would do if that happened.  He couldn't be gone because then… then… He couldn't be gone.  He was going to love _her, and marry __her.  He couldn't be dead.  The bright sparks seemed stilted as they flowed from her fingers onto the wood.  And there they stayed; moving up and down the length of the wood - dancing with the magic of everyone else who was going to miss him.  The stick then moved onto William and then to the Tumbleweeds and the Dominguez family. _

Once everyone present from the youngest to the eldest had lent a small part of themselves - of their magic - to pass Cypress onto the next life Basil slowly lowered the stick onto the pier.  It landed across the layed out body of Cypress and the sparks leapt off and ran across the forgotten corpse.  It was strange: all magic was blue when seen as running and jumping sparks, but each person's was a particular shade of blue and that was never repeated - even amongst a father and son, or like with Willow and William, between twins.  William's magic was bright and vibrant while Willow's was almost indigo.  Cypress' magic had always been the most pale, being almost white.  It was that colour of magic that spread from his body, drawn out by the dancing spectacle of everyone else's magic.  As the magic left, the body collapsed in on itself until there was nothing under the sparks other than a pile of dust which was caught up in the wind and carried away.  The cloud of blue sparks spread out and as magic touched a fairy it would disappear into that body and make it their own.  Willow watched as a cluster of magic made it's way towards her and she could spot individual particles that were Cypress' paleness mixing with her own magic, which was by far the darkest of the group.

The sparks descended to rest upon her shoulders and entered herself.  It was almost as if Cypress was still here and laughing about her overly expressive emotions.  Pointing out that he wasn't even going to kiss her once because then Basil would feel that he had been rejected for a female.  It was their joke that had carried on from childhood when they had been so convinced they would grow up to marry that they had already decided on names for their kids.  The first girl would be called Marigold and the first boy was going to be named after his father.  It was a sweet thing to do when you're young, but not so great when you still held the hope in your seventies when the man of your dreams was gay.

Willow wiped her eyes on her shirt and blinked, as the clearing suddenly became darker when the last of the sparks had settled on Baby Petal's head.  She gripped the hand of her brother as Cypress' father stepped forward to speak.  She could hardly hear his voice over the sound of her own thoughts that were cluttering her brain.  She leaned into her brother and gasped as a dome coloured dark purple formed over the congregation's head.  They were in trouble.

* * * * * 

            Any Mud Man who heard of a science lab being a standard feature of a florist would think that of course there had been some mistake since florists were ditzy hippies with bottled red hair.  But the Mud Men have never tried to have flowers flourish underground without light or natural air.  The air of the Underground was much cleaner but it was still radically different from that above.  The trouble was that plants were not built to survive conditions such as these, while at the same time The People were not built to survive without nature.  It was considered a type of doom when the fairies had moved their homes Underground because without plants the rights of naming and death and even marriage would be broken, which had the possibility of destroying The People.

            Naturally they had done everything they could to improve the longevity of flowers once they had been taken from the surface - magical energy and strange potions which preserved the characteristics and properties of some of the most common plants.  A true revolution came with the idea of genetically mutating the plants so they could survive in Underground conditions.  The original Flora Biochemist, of about 100 years ago, actually derived his idea and practises from the art of Alchemy and some common medical practises of the time.  He was exceptionally bad at creating a durable flower, and still is, but the idea had sparked a chain of curious experiments, which led a young sprite named Sam to start experimenting with his chemistry set.

Twenty years later he was hard at work peering under a microscope with a bottle of a clear liquid held tightly in his hand.  He moved the small specimen of Bougainvillea to the right and dropped a tiny amount of the liquid onto the slide.  The flower puffed up slightly at the places where the liquid had touched it, but after a few seconds it gave a soft pop and shrivelled up.  Sam let out a howl of frustration and with a great sweep of his arm slid all his experiments into one huge garbage bag and kicked it into the bin.

            Inside the bag as the fat scientist lugged it up the stairs from his cellar laboratory the bottle of liquid slowly dripped onto a pile of half-crushed flowers.  Most shrivelled and died almost instantly but a lily at the very bottom of the bag glowed a faint mauve before the liquid stained it purple and caused small welts to appear along the length of the petals.  The bag dropped onto the ground and was given a rough kick, by coincidence, tore the bag open before Sam moved away disgruntled with yet another failed attempt.

            Later that afternoon a blind cat with a bright blue collar smelt the decomposing flowers and decided to investigate.  After he decided that the bag wasn't very interesting after all he was about to move away when the smell of sour Chinese take away tempted him and he moved further into the alley to find and devour the snack.

            It was about this time that Cypress Lake and the Wattle twins came looking for William's cat, by name of Pebbles.  They were about to by pass the alley entirely when Cy heard a rustling in the garbage layed out on the side of the wall.  He, being the eldest at almost 9, called the twins over and began to organise the capture of the beast, commonly and mistakenly known as a cat.  Willow animatedly refused to walk through the rubbish to look for William's stupid cat and stood back as the boys attacked the trash pile with vigour.  Just as they were reaching the top and about to climb over to the other side a tabby cat that was most definitely _not Pebbles shot out of a garbage bag and escaped down the alley.  William swore at their wasted effort and scrambled back down the rubbish pile but Cy wasn't following him because he had caught sight of the hideously purple lily that was lying in front of his foot, waiting for him to pick it up.  He did.    _

That one lily changed history because it inspired Cypress to listen in his biology lessons and later become the most prominent of biochemists this side of the ground.  And that lily became a gift that lasted 4 years before it wilted - cementing Willow's love for her friend.  It is strange how one event can change the course of the world so easily.

* * * * *

The Tumbleweed parents immediately hugged their four children close and Basil looked up from the grass with a look of distress and fear upon his face.  William dropped Willow's hand and began to run towards the patch of sky where the purple light was strongest.  Soon they could see a fairy of the LEP moving towards them.  The fairy disabled their shield while still in flight, zooming towards the group of stunned mourners who were milling about in disorientated confusion.  The fairy took charge and began to gather the group into a tight circle giving small spheres to 4 fairies that stood at the edge of the grouping.  He began to take a fifth device from his pack but then shook his head and moved to help Harold Tumbleweed activate the device that lay in his hands.  When the sphere was opened it emitted a small but excruciating light.  The LEP officer activated each of the devices inturn and once they were all glowing he began to shuffle the four light-bearers into position so they formed a perfect square.  At one point one of the younger children made to run out of the rough barrier but the fairy deftly caught the pixie and handed her back to her mother.  

The fairy flew upwards and gestured for Harold to move an inch over to the right.  Suddenly a strange and indescribable feeling filled all the fairies present.  Willow's stomach felt like it had taken a trip to visit her heart and her head was filled with the weirdest feeling - as if it was so heavy that it had suddenly become lighter than air.  Within seconds the feeling had passed and she was looking into the face of the LEP officer who had landed, turned off her wings (which were of a very old style) and pulled off her helmet.  It would have been quite appropriate if tumbling locks of hair had fallen down her back as she slowly raised her helmet but this wasn't the case as her auburn hair was cut shorter than most males and was only slightly ruffled by the experience of the helmet.

"Hello, my name is Captain Holly Short and listen up because I'm about to explain what happened.  One of our security patrols noticed a Mud Men military platoon on a mission in the area.  They were heading in this direction when the alarm was sounded.  We should have compensated for event this because the Mud Men of this area between the two countries of Pakistan and India are on the edge of war.  Those fairies higher up should never have authorised this area for ceremonial usage, but the idiots did.  The purple dome you saw is only visible to one of the People and the situation has been dealt with.  You are currently under the protection of a Shielding Dome and I would ask you to not move outside the line of our four wonderful volunteers who will also not move because then we will be dead."  The youngest of the sphere bearers looked nervously towards his family and then towards the Captain and swallowed hard.  "Any questions?  Good."

Nobody spoke as they just looked at each other.  Many clearly had questions they wanted answered.  Holly did a quick head count, checking it beside a list she pulled from her pocket.  She cleared her throat and the mumbled sounds that had just been starting up stopped immediately.  "Who's not here.  Can everyone check that his or her families and friends are inside the dome, we have someone missing.  It's no need to panic but I need to know."

Willow put up her hand as if she was back in primary school.  "It's my brother, William Wattle.  He's a security officer specialising in defence against Mud Men.  His men were part of the patrol."

Holly nodded silently and made some quick notes on her paper.  "You shall all remain inside this dome until an escort to the shuttle arrives.  This really could have been avoided – let alone the fact that it's almost a false alarm anyway."  She replaced her helmet and pulled the cord to start the engine of her petrol-powered wings.  As an after thought as she was about to enable her shield she said, "I am very sorry for your loss."  And flew into the night.  

* * * * *

Not terribly far away the cloak that had been layed out to hold Cypress' body fluttered and rose with the wind.

* * * * *

Only about a week after the funeral Willow had talked herself into going through Cypress' things.  His family and Basil had the personal items and so the only things left to Willow were anything related to his work.  The florist hadn't been open in over a week and a layer of underground dirt had settled over everything.  The only thing that looked any different than it had when Cy was still alive was the yellow LEP barrier that segregated a devastated corner of the lab behind the florist.

            Willow was placing the papers and screens from his desk into an old plastic crate and slowly tiding up all that remained of Cypress in her life.  The Bonsai Morten Bay Figs he had been working on had looked very promising and Willow was quite certain that by herself she would never be able to perfect them enough for sale.  She would send them to another Biochemist who might have a chance – but nobody would ever be able to equal Cypress.  He had been the best of the best.  She moved the files and workings for the Bonsai's to one side and slowly picked up the hand-scribbled notes underneath.

            She didn't know how long she stared at the paper without really seeing them but when William tapped her on her shoulder she spun around instantly defensive and pulled the papers to her chest.  "Sorry bro, you shocked me something terrible.  You shouldn't do that."

            "Sorry.  Have you found something interesting there?" he asked, pointing at the papers she was hugging tight.

            "Oh, it's not really anything.  It's just some of Cy's sideline work - the theoretical stuff, which wouldn't come to anything. I…" 

            "What, sis?"

            "I hope it's theoretical."  

            And she slowly handed the papers over to her brother.

* * * * *

William scanned the papers concerning the development of a biological weapon for the fifth time that evening.  He didn't understand what was actually written down because it was all concerning HydroChloric Acid and Sulfuric Whatismacallit's.  Willow had explained some of the symbols and now she was just sitting in a corner trying to find a hole in the formula to ensure it wouldn't work.  She hadn't found anything yet.

            William put the sheets down and moved to kneel beside Willow, gripping her in a fierce hug.  "What are you going to do with this?"

            "I don't know.  I mean he would never… He couldn't…  He was probably doing this for the Council or something - it's like a biobomb crossed with a DNA cannon.  It's a biological weapon that can be targeted to a specific race or person, while still being very deadly if not specified to anyone.  It would be very useful in reducing innocent casualties in situations like that Artemis Fowl debacle because they could have taken down Fowl without worrying about that kidnapped officer.  But… how could Cy have created something like this?  It's so very, very… _evil.  I'm going to burn these papers, or bury them, or, or __something!  The plans for this __thing can't exist.  Nobody can know that my Cypress wasn't the best fairy that ever lived.  No one can know that he did this."_

            She jumped to her feet and began to build a pile of coal in the oven grate. Her movements were hurried and frantic, not noticing when a rock rolled out to land on the floor.  She grasped a box of matches from the stool beside the oven and strove to strike one.  Her hands were trembling too much to get an even stroke and the matches broke on the first try.  She threw the box into the grate in frustration and angrily shook a fist at the oven making the coal suddenly burst into flame.  She then made a grasp for the papers her brother still held in his hands.  "Bill… I can't let this happen.  Nobody can know how Cy did this horrible thing.  What would his mother, what would Elaine say if she ever knew.  We can't let anyone ever know."

            "But Willow, what if it _was for the Council or something?  They'll want this research for themselves because they will need someone else to continue this."_

            "No fairy could ever be as good a biochemist as Cy."  Willow said proudly.  "He was the best and nobody would ever be able to match his work or would be able to continue it.  Why did he have to die, Bill?  What if it was because of this and so someone exploded the lab?"

            "That was only an accident.  He could have happened to anyone.  The Ancients wanted his company and so they took it."  His voice was soothing and had the tiniest hint of the _mesmer._

            "Cy was better than that.  He was better than doing this."  She said with a wave at the papers.  "Whoever wanted it probably blackmailed him so he would do it and then he was noble and didn't let them have it so they killed him and now they'll want the papers and so we can't let them have it.  I won't let them take it from me because then what Cypress did was all for nothing and I can't let his memory become so ashamed.  He's probably looking down at me from the table with the Ancients, trying to tell us what to do.  Remember how we promised to be bestest friends for all eternity but now he's gone away again.  He never loved me, did he?"  Her voice was losing its mad edge and settling down to be filled with pain and sorrow.  "I miss him, Bill."

            William bit his lip as his sister snuggled up to him with a sigh.  He used a full layer of _mesmer this time as he said. "Cypress loved you dearly.  He misses you too.  Go to sleep and dream of the children you would have had if he hadn't sacrificed himself for the good of the People."_

            As her breathing immediately slowed William shifted her body so that her head was lying on a pillow.  He slowly picked up all the pages of scientific working and tip-toed to his bedroom where he opened his old school trunk, burying to the very bottom before careful placing the sheets down.  There they should be safe.  He only wished that the same could be said about his sister.

* * * * *

            Almost four months later, circumstances were such that William Wattle felt a decisive urge to dig down to the very depths of his old school trunk.  For a reason we shall not divulge just yet he felt the need for the most horrible weapon imaginable to be in his possession.  The desire for control over others and revenge for wrongs was coursing through his veins.  Again we see the events that take place because of one simple thing that many would brush off as insignificant.  It is like how the love for one woman caused the fall of Troy and a war that lasted for decades.  Hopefully this one won't last for quite so long…

* * * * *

Ashfaq Sameer was completely out of the loop when it came to the war effort of his fellow Pakistanis.  He didn't know anybody fighting, nor did he know anyone who was slightly higher up in the chain of command.  He was the typical image any military man would get when forced to define 'civilian'.  He was a respectable person with a higher level of income than most his countrymen, slightly good looks and a very esteemed reputation with any Pharmaceutical company world-wide.  A Muslim man who had not gotten himself extremely worked up about the reaction (or events) of September the 11th which had only served to made him interested in all things political.  Pretty much average if you compared him with any Western civilisation.  Which was the reason that he was so surprised when the following happened.

            After finishing reading through a political essay by a fellow who called himself 'Taliesin' in an effort to look mysterious and unbribable, Ashfaq closed the Internet display box with a thinly veiled snort of disgust.  Imagine thinking a simple man who didn't even tell people his name could dictate or even _understand what was really happening in the big wide world that he watched from his computer swivel chair.  _

After he closed the window he opened up another and clicked on his favourite list bringing up a list of medical sites and a few porn ones.  He clicked on one of the later and waited for it to load.  He drummed his fingers on the desktop as the main image slowly came into view.  Then just when the image's breasts were about to load a pop-up box obscured his view.  Ashfaq gave a low growl and his clicked on the close button on the "Wild Wonder's Online Casino".  It left the screen and he could see the start of the woman's tattoo that rested above her navel.  

Another box popped up.  This time with a flashing sign on a dull grey background simply saying: "I have a proposition for you."  He clicked it close.  Another one immediately took its place with a modest message, "I'm serious and I'm not a corporation, Mr Sameer."  Ashfaq breathed deeply before clicking the x on this one as well.  Another window came up.  "I wish to have your help with a little project I have up and running.  The rewards will be great, Mr Ashfaq Sameer, married to Nasween Sameer with two daughters and living in Pakistan.  In the city of Maltan.  Do you really want to know how much I know about you?  I might decide to do something… wrong, to your daughters."  Ashfaq was visibly shaking as he closed down the box.  Another took it's place but this one was an (and this image came to his mind completely unbidden) angry deep maroon.  "I'm getting impatient, Mr Sameer."  The image only lasted for a few seconds then the 'Find Out More!' box began to get larger every time he blinked until it filled the entire window.  

Ashfaq closed his eyes and clicked on it.


	5. Camembert and Calcium Carbonate

**Disclaimer:** Artemis Fowl belongs to Eoin Colfer. Although if you're a paranoid person who believes in magic, you might argue that because Artemis Fowl is a real person he belongs to himself and possibly his mother and father. Marylin vos Savant actually does belong to herself, and for anyone who doesn't know, she has the highest known IQ. (190, on a test where the average is 100). She is also an American and if Arty _was_ smarter than her he would have said the highest recorded IQ in the _world,_ rather than in Europe.

**Author's Note:** There is a point to Liam. He is not just an unsatisfactory clone of Artemis whose personal value is about the same as Mark Hamil in Star Wars (ie. A main character without any acting skills, depth or personality). This was originally going to be short with the only plot being the character development between Artemis and someone who could be a rival or a friend. Liam had to be smart so that he would be just as isolated as Artemis and subject to the same type of prejudices.

Please note that my knowledge of the Irish school system is absolutely nil and so I have based this off books I've read set in the British schooling system. So all of my assumptions are probably entirely wrong but just think Hogwarts terms and holidays to make sense of it all. Please note that this jumps about 3 quarters of a year within the chapter and so try to pick up the small hints to tell you when it is. 

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Camembert and Calcium Carbonate

"That's the problem with winning right from the start, thought Ender. You lose friends."

- Ender's Game (Orson Scott Card)

School was not Liam Brambling's favourite place in the weeks after Artemis Fowl graced St. Bartleby's with his presence. The word had spread quickly that Liam was no longer the smartest boy in the school. The new kid was better, quicker and had more complicated answers to science questions. As the other boys realised this it was Artemis they went to if they wanted tutoring, or an assignment explained, and the attention that had been focused on Liam for so long was diverted. He had always complained when people called him a freak, or had come to him for help involving a simple maths question, but he had enjoyed it. He had liked people acknowledging that he was smart. Had liked the recognition he got for being the smartest, the same way the jocks liked respect for being the best at their sport. And he didn't have that any more.

Liam had always been deprived of social skills, the way most "astonishingly brilliant" children are. If he was honest with himself, he would have sought out Artemis Fowl's companionship for the simple reason of possibly being able to have something more than a one sided conversation, unlike that which Liam had with the other boys. For a genius of 150 IQ or more, talking to someone average, or even the higher end of normal, was like anyone else trying to hold an in depth conversation with someone severely mentally handicapped. That's what he should have done. If he had only done that things would have been profoundly different. For better or worse, nobody could possibly guess.

After a while though, the other boys realised that when Artemis Fowl wanted them to go away and stop bothering him, he actually meant it. He wasn't much help to anyone who even managed to capture his attention because his explanations were designed to confound the asker even more. These were yet another version of his infamous mind games that he played on absolutely everyone. From students, to teachers, to the Psychiatrist, Doctor Shortis, who finally left the school (mumbling and in the back seat of a hospital van) after one twenty-minute introductory session with Artemis. The project that Liam had been working so hard towards, stolen and achieved in twenty minutes and the bets were made void by Artemis' interference. When Principal Guiney asked Artemis what had happened, he had replied with an evasive answer about psychiatrists having more mental disorders because they realise the symptoms of diseases within themselves that anyone else wouldn't. 

In Artemis' defence it could be said that he was creating his own form of mental stimulation with his mind games and outside activities (legal and illegal). He was exceptionally bored because, quite frankly, he had written half their Commerce textbook when he was 10. Artemis would have also have benefited from a relationship with Liam, but even if he had realised this he probably wouldn't have acted upon it. A quote about stubborn mules could adequately describe these two people. They had declared war to see who could out-do the other and to offer friendship would be worse than surrender.

The students wanting help gradually migrated back to Liam but by then he had started his own project. Not with the same amount of focus or drive as Artemis had in his project to rescue his father, but it had the same personal purpose. He needed to free his genius and feed his intellect so he wouldn't end up in the same hospital as Doctor Shortis.

* * * * *

Artemis was rather resentful of the fact that Liam Brambling hated him right from the start. He put some effort into gaining the respect of the other student, but things had been going downhill from the first science lesson. He deserved that one answer, though. Nobody should be so stupid as to think they were the best of the best, because the world doesn't work like that. There was always someone who was better or smarter than you and people have to accept that. Artemis accepts that. Marylin vos Savant was smarter than him. By 4 IQ points too.

Artemis was looking for … something … in Liam Brambling. He most definitely wasn't looking for a friend. Friends were a weakness that could be used against you. They could betray you. He was simply feeling the effects of not having Butler around him as a companion. He needed to have someone to talk to about his ideas and plans to find his father. Not to give any input or criticism, but to be there so that Artemis could get his ideas out and so be more able to see the mistakes in them himself. Someone to bounce ideas off so that they made more sense on the return trip.

He wasn't looking for a friend or an enemy. He was looking for a true rival. Someone who it was challenging and interesting to be around. Someone who could provide real competition because otherwise being the best was rather boring. This realisation, like many things, did not come to Artemis until much later, at a time when this information would be particularly unhelpful.

* * * * *

Liam sat back and re-read the work he had just typed up. It wasn't his best oration but the impact was enough to find support against the latest "making the world a better place" ploy by the Americans. The U.S. Government was trying to gain support in all their allied nations for a "pre-emptive strike" on India and Pakistan and UN peacekeeping involvement in Kashmir. The last essay was really about how the American's refer to their 'allies', but the 'allies' just call them Americans. The side nations were under the corporate power of America and they considered themselves undeniably allied to the U.S., while it is questionable as to wether or not the Americans are allied to them - if they would stick up for the interests of Australia or Canada if the time arose. 

He thought about the content for a moment before signing the bottom with the pseudonym 'Taliesin'. That was the name he used most often, and especially when publishing anything dealing with political predictions or trends. The name had come from the Celtic mythological figure and although it gave some hints as to where the writer of Taliesin might be, it was worth it to bask in the irony. He had a few other pen names, the second favourite being "Aeschines" and various throwaway names that he used to reply to Taliesin or Aeschines, offering other opinions on what was written. Most of the essays were only posted on the net, but a few of the more groundbreaking had been picked up and used in magazines and newspapers. 

Liam heard the door behind him open and minimised the document so quickly it would have made a man looking up porn sites in work hours proud. Rob Edwards, a short 5th grader, came up behind, peering at the statis bar at the bottom of the screen. Liam covered it with his hand and spun around in his swivel chair. 

"What's up, kid?"

"Don't call me kid, Brambling. I'm years older than you."

"Sorry, it's reflex from the summer holidays with my little sister. She's usually the only one who tries to read what I'm working on. And you _are 8 inches shorter than I. So… what is it?"_

"Oh, Dr McGrath gave us this code-cracking competition." He waved a wad of papers in front of Liam's face. "I just wanted to know - "

"- If I'd do it for you? What's the price?"

"I'm not wanting you to do it for me. I just wanted to tell you about it. It's a national comp and the first person who cracks it wins, I dunno, government privileges and some fat award. I think it's impossible, but _you_ have a chance at least. They do say it has an answer. I bought you a copy of the sheets."

The wad of paper Rob handed to Liam had a completely nonsensical array of numbers and symbols scattered all over it, without any form of order as to how they were set out. Most of the symbols were repeated but sometimes they looked upside down or backwards and it was possible that the photocopy was upside down as well. Quite a few of the characters appeared to be represented as numeric fractions but you couldn't be sure that they didn't represent an abbreviated word, like in sign language where there were signals for individual letters and also signs for entire words to make communication quicker. 

If there was ever such a thing as a global language this is how it would be written. Liam could see bastardised characters from at least 7 recognisable and common languages, but it was the way that they all sat together in a jumbled lump that was the part that would cause difficulties.

Liam singled out a character that looked like a small animal perched on a bowl or a half circle. "This is ancient Egyptian. A symbol for the common people or the country-men." He scanned the rest of the sheet, seeing a few more characters that looked vaguely Egyptian. He was about to point out something that could be a version of an Arabic character when he realised that Rob had already left his room. Liam shrugged and turned back to his article signed Taliesin. He quickly saved the work and shut down the machine, all the while scanning the code print-outs for recognisable symbols. Code was what he did best.

* * * * *

Artemis quite definitely didn't like his teachers. Aside from the fact that they were all incompetent twits who insisted he learn from a text book he wrote, they wanted him to be available to help others. It was a very painful experience but at least none of the students had come back for more. Well, none of the students up till now. Joshua Steward was a stubby, tag-along type boy and so desperate for a friend that he'll settle for a kid 3 years younger, 98% smarter, who was hated by everyone else and, to top it off, hated Joshua. It was probably the fact that Artemis wasn't allowed to run away from him that cemented his drooling, loyal dog feelings. The teachers thought that Artemis had a lot of spare time, but do they seriously think that the new Dublin Opera House is going to design itself? 

As he entered a small dorm for a number of 5th graders, he was greeted by complete silence. All four 15-year-olds had their heads down in reference books and were scribbling little notes in red pen in the margins of multiple pages of nonsense characters. Joshua was the first to give up on what he was doing and so saw Artemis standing at the door.

"Hey, Fowl. I'm just about to go crazy. Do you want to watch? Dr McGrath gave us this code problem to figure out. It's for some competition, but it is absolutely impossible. The only symbol any of us have is this stupid squirrel thing. And the only way we have that is Rob gave the comp to Liam Brambling - he's in your year right? - and he could just name some of the symbols immediately. He's a bloody freak!"

"What is it?"

"Here, you can have my copy. It's not like I'm going to get anywhere with it anyway. You're an even bigger freak than Brambling, so I'm sure you can do this." Joshua handed over a wad of papers that was already rumpled and crushed, with a tomato soup stain in a corner. He stuffed the end of an iced doughnut into his mouth and pointed a sticky hand at the squirrel figure. "That's the one that Brambling knows. It means the 'common people' in Egyptian or Arabic or something."

"No…" Artemis' voice was drawn out as he peered at the page. "In this context it's more like the people other than the people. It's not common people, it's like an outsider, or a foreigner."

"How the hell do you know that?" Asked a boy from the corner. "You don't, do you? You're just saying that to prove Brambling wrong. If you two would talk to each other instead of being rivals, you could have Principal Guiney mental in a day."

But Artemis wasn't listening. He had realised what nobody else on the Earth would be able to realise. The squirrel-figure wasn't mutilated ancient Egyptian. It was Gnommish. 


	6. Mistletoe and Blackmail

**Disclaimer:** Artemis Fowl, Butler and all the AF canon characters don't belong to me although they are allowing me a temporary loan just so long as I don't hurt them too bad and I don't make money.  But all these other creations are mine!  ALL MINE!!!!  Muah HA ha AHHHAHHAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:** I'm actually back on a roll with this story with all the chapters planned out, my plot holes darned and I should be able to write and write and write so I should get back on track.  Should.  For all those that can't remember: Liam's dad works in Belgium and his little sister is named Jacaranda because of their mother's insanity and nicknamed 'Jac'.  

**Thanks:** To **Wierdo** (I'm not Indian although I did go there for a holiday.);  **Ivycreeper **(I'm done with the jumping backwards and forwards… for now.);  **Darth gryph **(I'm glad you appreciate my attempt at having a serious plotline it's hard enough to write.);  **Da-xia Nariko **(It's pretty much all Liam and Arty and Root and Holly from now on in.);  **blacknight **(I don't think I could ever write a romance novel length.  But I wrote _You Can't Jump Over Yourself _, in part, because of your review.);  **ozzy **(Sorry, it used to be chapter 3 and it's a pun of the old saying 'different as cheese and chalk – said in a genius-y manner.);  **Bite Me **(No, I'm not petty like Big Friendly Walrus and I'm sure he'll appreciate being called a demented freak.  Although, could you please tell me where you get the impression that he's my best friend, I've been curious.); ** Li Kayun** (this could turn into a war of the flattery couldn't it.  Can I at least be jealous of you being able to spell jealous properly?)****

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Mistletoe and Blackmail

"Inside every small problem is a larger one struggling to get out."

- Anonymous

After Dr McGrath handed out the numerous sheets of code the school went through a number of clearly marked stages that separated different people of the school from the others.  For the first 4 hours coded pages were carried everywhere, by everyone.  Most soon dropped off and refocussed their lives on more tangible things such as football and hormones.  Another group stopped within 24 hours; the boys who only had a limited amount of patience even if it would have been possible for them to persevere a bit longer.    Within 48, another class of people had fallen.  Those who had been absolutely determined but nature and logic had overruled them.  And in the next day some of the last few despaired.  They were the ones who were bright, knew they were bright, but failed to bring the goods home on this occasion.  But that was alright because there was quite a bit of entertainment to be made by betting on who would last the longest.

            By the fifth day, any of the bets laid on boys other than Artemis Fowl and Liam Brambling had been proven false.  Dark and ominous circles ringed both pairs of eyes and neither was ever seen without a stack of paper and a red pen in front of him - in classes, meals, or after lights out.  But their suspended education was not of great importance because it seemed as if the rest of the school - students, prefects and faculty alike - were all holding their breaths as well.  An observer, (of which there were many) could see the different ways that both were approaching the problem laid in front of him.  Fowl was staying calm, working out one symbol before moving onto the next, never stressing or becoming agitated over his progress.  The most important feature though was his complete confidence in his abilities; he wasn't feeling the need to rush because he _knew that he would soon understand it.  Brambling on the other hand was loosing more sleep.  He was acting irrationally and many attributed this to a desire to beat Artemis on his home turf.  Codes were his speciality and it would be the highest insult for Artemis to succeed before him.  _

Liam was being so compulsive that he was only seeing the small things of the individual characters that made up the code that occupied his entire time.  He didn't see the bigger mystery: why was the code being given out in the first place?

* * * * *

Artemis had been troubling over this aspect almost more than he had been pondering the cryptic code.  It was also an advantage to him that he had the curiosity over the Gnommish and not such an irrational approach to winning.  (He thought that it might actually be very educational to loose at one point - know how the underdog feels so it is better to manipulate him.) 

            One thing among many was certain - if he was the one to first break the code he wasn't going to hand the result into the government.

            There were many reasons why he thought that the government might be handing out a code to school boys.  They wanted to test the system.  They had 'acquired' the code from an intercepted transmission and thought that it might be relating to the IRA or a terrorist group.  Maybe it was really the CIA behind it and they thought - like all paranoid Americans - that it must be someone out to get them.  But none of the explanations made complete sense.  The government or any other organisation would be reaching the end of their resources if they were handing out copies to anyone.  Being this open about a code would mean that the sender (assuming it was intercepted) would know and instantly change it.

            To an outsider this might look like an overly paranoid state of mind but Artemis was really only exercising a healthy scepticism.  It was almost like it was a game.  Most messages that were important enough to be coded were not coded so obviously.  The proper way to code a message is to create a normal message with the message inside of it not this business of creating an alphabet to hide it.  The people who created an alphabet were amateurs.

            To say the least, the code was twisting Artemis' mind in ways that the human mind should not be twisted.  Some of Artemis' peers and teachers noticed this and decided that since this wasn't the normal and proper behaviour for a pre-teen something must be wrong.  And so was the reason for the now infamous psychiatrist's appointment that became the start of Artemis' notorious adventures with the Goblin upsurgeance and his involvement in the Russian Mafiya.

* * * * *

**(AN: This now jumps to after the Artic Incidence.  When Artemis has just admitted to respecting some rare people.)**

Artemis walked slowly out of Doctor Po's office.  He hadn't really been concentrating on much lately with the possible excuse of the layers and layers of exhaustion from the last 4 days.  He wasn't paying attention to the hallways before him as he made his way back to his shared dormitory in the MacDougal wing, just reflecting on the slightly mysterious, slightly witty and slightly… _accurate conversation with the Doctor._

            He made his way into the room and flopped (only as much as a Fowl ever flops) onto his bed in the right-hand corner.  The desk beside had papers covered in red pen strewn all over it.  The obsession with the code seemed such a long, long time ago now.  Figuring out a message and the reasons why it exists in the first place seemed so… petty.  Artemis is quite used to thinking of the actions of others as petty - from classmates to politicians - but it usually did not relate to himself.

            He pulled himself upright, picking up the most completed copy of the code and pulling it onto his lap.  He examined what he had.  Most of the various codes that made up the grand total had been cracked quite easily although about 3 had resisted.  The Mayan dialect for one - it was quite extinct and only to be found in the most obscure of published journals with no proper translations.  There were only two codes left.  One was actually modern Greek.  But the sounds of the characters appeared to be muddled so what it appeared to be was actually something else.  Some headway was being made in the margins of a sheet.  And lastly there was the numbers.  Fractions, random letters, negatives, positives… The hardest part was not knowing whether or not they were representing letters or words or maybe even ideas.  It was almost impossible.

            This wasn't petty, when you thought about it.  He was doing it as a personal challenge and vocation.  He wanted to discover who it might possibly relate to and why it was even in existence.

            He tried another possible variation for a Greek character.

* * * * *

About an hour later, a sweaty and stinking Arton Smyth barged into the room backwards while continuing a yelled conversation with his mates who were already further down the hall.  He turned, shaking his head, and started when he spotted the previously bent head of his roommate who had mysteriously disappeared for the last 4 days.

            "Fowl?  Where have you been?  Sorry for sounding rude but… "

            "I was required in Switzerland."

            "Right.  If you say so."  Arton moved closer and Artemis' nose visibly wrinkled at the smell from the boy standing behind him.  He pretended it wasn't there and brought the pen tip to hover over the page once again.

            "What are you still doing that code for, Fowl?  It's been cracked.  Brambling had it 3 days back.  Got some cool prize for it--"

            Artemis felt the same strange feeling that had accompanied his exhaustion.  The code was already done.  Admittedly, Brambling had probably only finished it first because Artemis' own mind was distracted by more important things over the last few days but… 

It wasn't what he felt that was important; it was what others thought he was feeling.  Reputation is one of the most unstable things in the world, as it often brings down those it once held up.  Artemis wasn't one to brag - rather he just acted completely self-assured so that everyone knew without being told.  It was the principle.

            When someone who has never lost goes down, it's the right time for the thugs to have a go.  Because it is well known that the loser will be soon on their feet again and then it would be impossible.

Here it came…

"Fowl, you looked stunned.  You must have been beaten before.  And… it can't be that bad.  Now you know what it's like to be one of us mere mortals who have to study on occasion." He grinned but Artemis was still looking down, turning things over in his head.  "Brambling was ecstatic to have bettered you at your own game for once - all that genius biz and all."  He felt as though this was some how the wrong thing to have said.  In the far reaches of a jock's mind lies a small slither of self-preservation.  He tried to cover his tracks but had only opened his mouth when he was cut off.

Artemis spoke calmly and unemotionally - and it wasn't a trick.  "I never cared about finishing first or anything.  I was along for the ride.  It's an exercise for my brain in this closeted world of simple assessments and simpleminded teachers."

"But you and Brambling are always competing against each other in _everything_.  And this was worse than most of the previous ones.  We can all see it.  You can't lie your way out of it, Fowl."

"No.  Brambling is competing against me in an effort to prove himself.  Perhaps with this half-victory he'll start acting his IQ.  I was never competing because I've never needed to beat him in order to feel better about myself.  I already know what I am."

Arton just opened and closed his mouth a few times and moved back to his own corner and didn't say another word.

* * * * *

The last day of the school term came only a few days later.  It hadn't been really worth it to return in the first place but … it was expected.  In the grounds you got the half-bustle of rich families trying not to appear as if hurrying.  Artemis waited in his room with his laptop open and the papers of the code on the top of his trunk.  He glanced out the window occasionally while looking for Butler and lazily observed the boys leaving.  He had just spotted a man about Butler's gigantic build with the same deep brown hair and had half closed the laptop when the man turned and Artemis could see his glasses and scared nose.  He continued watching him for a moment until the man approached Brambling who was obviously waiting for him on the topiary lawns.

            "What are you doing, Fowl?"

            Artemis nearly jumped out his skin at the voice of Joshua from behind him.  He turned and his gaze left the figures of the Butler-like man and his classmate.  Joshua was grinning in the way that all geeky losers do and was wearing the expression of a 7-year-old regardless of his prominent Adam's apple and stubble.  "So… who's mum were you watching?"

            Artemis didn't even grace that with a comment or reaction, turning back to the window overlooking the drive.  People like Joshua were unimportant and would talk regardless of whether or not you were listening.

            Surprisingly enough there was silence for almost a minute before it was broken.

            "You know… You and Brambling--"

            "--Are alike?  So you keep telling me."

            "No.  You… You're… Like a freedom fighter and a terrorist."

            "Now that's a _real_ piece of genius."

            "You both are seen as the good guys or bad guys just depending on your point of view.  You both believe the other is wrong.  You both…"

            Artemis decided to help him out in this unfamiliar mental territory.  "We both have the same theme to our goals, in the way that both a freedom fighter and a terrorist want freedom from the whoever the oppressors are.  But then we go about completely differently ways in order to achieve them; demonstrations versus … violet demonstrations."

            "See, you both do the same things and so you should get along and do brainiac things together."

            "You switched arguments, Joshua…  And freedom fighters and terrorists never get along."  Joshua took this as a hint and moved towards the door.  "And by the way, which one of us is which?"

* * * * *

Liam Brambling heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief as the sheer stupidity of the school was left behind as he drove away.  The Brambling manservant – named Marcus – was driving and although he and Liam usually got on quite well together they were sitting in silence.  

            Marcus decided to take the initiative and break the silence that was beginning to become painful in the way it was one of those oppressive silences that suck in noise from the background or radio.  "Liam, are you looking forward to Christmas?"

            "Are Mother and Father going to be home?"

            "No, they're still in Liege.  But by Christmas day they'll be at the townhouse in Brussels and they want you and Jac to fly out as soon as possible.  Christmas is only 6      days away."

            "It's not right to have Christmas away from home.  Jac's only 9, they should try and make things stable for her sake at least."

            "Think of it as…  Don't think about it, Liam.  You only ever start fretting when you do that."  The silence returned.

            "I heard you won that competition for code-cracking.  Your picture was in the paper under some sappy heading about youth of today and forward to the technological future.  That was a big deal, wasn't it?  Although it must have been simple for you, eh Liam?"

            "It was a bit of a hollow victory.  Fowl had left the school for a few days and so there wasn't any competition.  And he didn't even _care_ that it'd beaten him"

            "Fowl?"

            "Do you know the name?"  Marcus nodded without twisting his head from looking at the road.  "Well, Artemis Fowl.  Brandishes his IQ about like you wouldn't believe."

            "Hummmm… Sounds like someone else I know?"

            "Marcus, I don't do that … and if I do it's by accident.  But _Fowl_ introduces himself as highest IQ in Europe and the next DaVinci.  It's egotistical."

            "It must be good to have someone on your level at school.  That's a real coincidence.  You always used to complain about a lack of challenge.  Is it—"

            "No."

            Marcus just took the hint and didn't say anything more.  Turning on the radio at one point, but then that became repetitive and boring with the same pop culture song playing thrice in an hour.   By the time they had reached the Brambling home in Kildare, it was the darker end of twilight.  They left the car; Liam taking his smaller bags while Marcus took his trunk into the house.

            As soon as they entered Cathy Olson, the cook, housekeeper and Jacaranda's Nanny, came bustling out of the laundry with her arms filled with folded linen.  She saw them at the door and gave a half-wave with her elbow before moving down a corridor.  She came back in moments with her arms freed, pulling Liam into a huge hug and smacked a kiss on each cheek. 

            "Why don't you go up and see your sister?  She's getting ready for her school pageant – she's playing one of the angels.  She's got on one of your mother's nightgowns and a gorgeous halo and wings.  She was hoping you'd be home in time to go to watch her.  I promised her I'd go as well."

            Liam smiled.  "When's it on?  I want to have a shower before we have to leave."

            "You've got half an hour, dear.  I'd better go and hurry up Jac though, she's pushing it."  And she started up the stairs yelling out "Jac!  Jacaranda!"

            Marcus and Liam looked at each other and grinned.  Then they made their way down a side corridor to Liam's bedroom, taking the luggage with them.

            They had deposited the baggage in the corner and were making their way back down the corridor when they heard running footsteps and sobbing.  Cathy was running down the stairs looking around her frantically.

            "Liam!  Your sister … I don't know …  it's something strange … she's …"

* * * * *

At Fowl Manor Artemis was in an… unstable mood.  His father had been officially found and identified and his mother had left for Helsinki yesterday.  She had assumed that he would come - _he_ had assumed that he would go - but at the last moment he remembered the blank look in his father's eyes on the occasion he had regained consciousness while Holly had been healing him.  And whenever he even thought about what could have happened with his half-plan in Russia…

            In any case he didn't think he was up to days waiting by a bedside with his Mother being anxious and silent, Butler acting in a state of continuous approval that couldn't possibly be real, and Juliet … painfully ditzy, bouncy, and with a mean punch.  

            The silence of the manor was much more to his taste.

            He had been decoding the last of the code - finishing the Greek in a matter of hours but every time he thought he was making headway with the numbers he ran into another wall of complication.  The problem with this section was that it wasn't based on anything that he could find on the Internet or in history or in texts.  It was completely random; whenever he thought he found a place where a meaning might fit, when placed in another spot it was somehow wrong.

            Service to say it wasn't a very relaxing first day of the holidays.

            A… breakthrough came when he was separating the numbers from the rest of the data in order to be able to process it properly through the computer.  He removed each translated section one by one and put it in a separate file.  When he moved the last of the Mayan dialect he realised something.  It was so simple that a 9-year-old making up clues for friends would have thought of it.

            Each of the languages helped make up the big clue (which was still hopelessly patchy in places) but in itself it also had a meaning.

            The real message in the Mayan was: _'Trust in my workmanship.  It fits the genetic specifications.  It can not be broken and will not fail.' _

* * * * *

There were a few problems when it came to translating the individual sections of text.  The main one being that whoever had transcribed, written or constructed the code in the first place had missed sections.  When these breaks were looked at in what Artemis had termed the "grand code" it still made sense and didn't ruin the garbled message all that much.  But when these breaks were looked at in the smaller sections of each language it meant that there could be three gaps within one sentence.

            He only had 3 basic individual translations left to do - the Greek, the Gnommish, and the still incomprehensible number system.  They were the shortest snippets with the most sections missing of the lot.  Some of the languages held no extra message and were simply filling for the Grand Code, but the translated rest were of various and sometimes unrelated topics.  But from what Artemis could understand it was pertaining to power or blackmail and also some … biological weaponry.  

            It was a clue in itself as to who was sending the message and who was listening in.

            There were rumours about both sides of the half-war between Pakistan and India constructing their own arsenals and it would be lax of the world to think that biological, chemical and atomic weaponry wouldn't be part.  It was one of those moments of extreme tension in World History where everyone was looking over their shoulder for the enemy to start firing.  It seemed that the two countries would soon be at each other's metaphorical throats and not even Cricket was holding them together.  Especially since the bombing in Hyderabad, Pakistan where many civilians and only 3 militia were killed.  

            Artemis was jolted out of his thoughts by the ringing telephone, which was probably his Mother once again – checking up on him.

            "Fowl."

            _"Listen, it's Brambling."_

            "Why on Earth..?"

            _"I need… You are going to help me with something.  It's an illness.  I don't think it's natural."_

            Artemis felt a tiny sense of premonition and his eyes flickered back to the computer screen and the sectioned translations.  But his cynicism cut in.

            "And why should I be helping _you_, Brambling?"

            _"Because you plagiarised on your English Essay last term."_

            Artemis was genuinely confused when he said, "What?"

            The voice on the other end of the line sounded smug, knowing that he was about to get what he wanted.  _"Your essay about the possible political future for Middle Eastern countries.  Half of that was copied from the Internet; written by a Doctor F. Roy Dean Schlippe.  A response to one of Taliesin's writings.  Now, if you don't come and help me with this I'll let that out to the school and you'll lose your precious reputation."_

            "It's not plagiarism if you repeat your own words, is it?"

            _"What?  Fowl, I'm telling you--"_

            "I'm telling you that I wrote both essays."

            _"But… I looked up the Doctor.  It's a pseudonym for a 47 year old who lives in Vienna.  He's published!"_

            "No. It's a pseudonym for a 13 year old who lives in Ireland.  And I wrote the English essay _before_ I wrote the Internet reply.  Don't tell me that you haven't done something similar."

            "Well… I…" 

            "Goodbye, Brambling."

            _"Please.  I don't—"_

            And Artemis hung up.

            He leaned forward on his chair, pulled up the Greek on screen and put the fragmented parts together.  Artemis would have given some big money in order to see Liam's face when his blackmail plan failed.  Of course it was going to fail right from the start.  _Imagine_ … trying to blackmail over the phone, spilling your cards too early and not being cold in voice and manner.  It was a truly pathetic attempt.

            The last of the Greek translation slid into place and Artemis glanced over at it expecting some more of the same, which gave him nothing but more questions.  It was not.

            _Plan one in place …  Subject, leprechaun Captain Mistletoe, is unaware and the … ready for … You'll have your freedom in no time … meer._

And everyone knows that one famous type of Mistletoe is Holly.


	7. Tumbleweed

**Disclaimer:** I own Artemis Fowl, Butler and everything else that you recognise from the Artemis Fowl books.  You see, I'm really Eoin Colfer and I'm also the head of all his publishing companies and… Okay, I'm still asleep.  But I do lay claim to Cheryl Tumbleweed and her friend Betsie who I'm really quite fond of.

**Author's Note:**  Kitty – I was going to have Foaly tell Root that—Blah!  If I say that I'll spoil half the chapter.  Well anyway, I included Grub just for you.

**Thanks to:**  **bride_of_lister **(I think that might be a problem with the upload of it.  I couldn't understand what you meant in this case but it has happened to me before.), 

**Kitty Rainbow **(I know I could have worked the time-jump into the prose but I've done that before and someone always stands up saying that they don't understand.), 

**Skywise** (I was trying to make him sound confused and desperate and he can't be OOC since he's mine and so maybe I'm just making him schizophrenic), 

**animefanatic07** (x3!!), 

**Lady Game **(If you had put an exclamation mark there it wouldn't have been appropriate. ::grin:: But I'm glad that you're interested in what's happening.  And I changed the titles and I _like_ the stick which resides in Artemis' rear-end.), 

**Miadevil** (cute reviews like that one make me smile.  Thanks.), 

**Eleida **(bamboozled the brains out of you?  Strange…), 

**big friendly killer whale **(You started? Um… sorry but _what_ did you start?  Are you going to join the BFW and Blue Yeti flaming brigade led by Monkey Queen?  And yes, BFW _is_ full of crap but it's all in jest and he does make it hilariously funny.), 

**Ivycreeper** (I'm glad you appreciate the bioweapons.  And damn you for researching for New Moon!  I was reading it and then I saw research and I was inspired and I ran off to research so I didn't feel so inadequate.), 

**ozzy** (The code is not only Ghnommish (which is all Artemis has on his PC) but a mix of many different languages and so it's not as simple as that.  And I had to find a way to get to the plot!),  

**The Seasyngr **(I love your name.  And I thought it was suitably un-genius enough for my genius, I'm glad you agree.)  

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Tumbleweed

"This just keeps getting better and better…"

- O'Connell (The Mummy)

Butler looked over his shoulder at the young man seated behind him.  The laptop was open on his knees but he had such a vacant look on his face as he thought things through that it ended up seeming as if he wasn't thinking at all - just gazing in a stupor at the screen in front of him.  Butler knew that on the screen the translations would be sitting, most possibly haunting Artemis with their gaps and incomprehensibility.

            As he watched the disk came out.  This was one of those little things which Artemis unconsciously did when he was deep in thought.  His father had given him a little disk of potent purple sujalite when he was young and he still carried it around with him everywhere.  And when he was thinking about something especially hard it came out of his pocket and was slowly rolled between his fingers and thumb on his left hand.  But it wasn't the disk of royal purple that Butler had become accustomed to seeing in his charge's hand or pocket; it was the gold coin that Holly Short had given him only a manner of days ago.  

That was probably a second indication of what was praying on his mind.  The first indication being the fact that they were driving to Tara to send out a warning.

The coin stopped rolling and Artemis looked up from his screen.  "Butler, I think I'm going to have to ask Brambling for help with this last code.  I'm not going to understand this in ten minutes."

"Yes, Artemis.  That will be a good idea."

"Well, I…  But if I… Doesn't matter."

He turned back to his laptop with a forceful and purposeful look.  He hummed a bit to himself, twisting his mouth around in concentration.

"Butler?  Do you have your mobile?"

Butler picked it up from the dash and threw it over his shoulder, Artemis catching it in his lap.

"Thank you."

He plugged it in to the computer and then began typing so fast that it was amazing that you could even see his hands.  The school would have records of Brambling's phone number.

* * * * *

Holly Short heard her alarm go off but in her unasked for opinion, 5pm was far too early to be getting up.  So she slammed her hand down on the snooze button.  She lay in the half consciousness of early twilight and shifted around so that her back was to the window into her apartment from which the sounds of Thursday evening markets flooded the room.  Thursday is considered by many to be the worst day of the week, as you may be lethargic from the first three days and not yet have the anticipation of a Saturday sleep-in.

            She lolled in her bed for another few minutes until the point in time when it becomes extremely necessary to get up in order survive  the wraith of Beetroot.  The alarm went off again.

            _"--although it's a lovely fresh start of the night for most, there are continuing problems involving fractions of the Anti-Atlantis Association and their supporters.  There were some raids and small riots over the day and the LEP have their work out for them if they are going to manage to calm both the terrorist supporters and the frightened crowds. They are also experiencing huge difficulties due to those of their forces who are still out of commission from the Goblin Uprising of last week.  I have on the line my good friend, Private Chix Verbal, a sprite from the heart of Police Plaza who'd going to tell us the latest.  Good morning Chix--"_

_            Holly was already running down her hallway pulling on her uniform without having breakfasted or showered.  It is not a good political time to be a LEP officer. _

            She ran out into the street with the tongue of one of her boots flapping loose and her hair in a bedraggled, sticking up mess.  The door of the block slammed shut behind her as she ran forward tugging her uniform straight.  She rounded the corner into Small Street and bowled over a young elf that was probably about her age.  And bowled over was the only accurate way to describe it.  Holly tripped and landed 2 meters distant and the man rolled to a stop far away in the center of the street.

            Holly shook her head and rose to her feet, scrambling over to the man who looked slightly stunned.  She held out her hand to help him to his feet and he graciously took it.  

            "I'm so sorry for that.  I'm in a hurry and I wasn't looking out for anyone."

            "You're Captain Holly Short recon, are you not?"

            "Um, yes.  Why do you--"

            "Oh, nothing, nothing.  I've just heard about you that's all."  

And he held out his hand for her to shake.  This was a curiosity in itself because although she was … infamous, nobody treated her well.  Or wanted to _know her._

            "Oh.  Right."  And she shook it, still in a state of perplexment.  And she just stayed there, looking at him in puzzlement.

            "Don't you have to be somewhere.  You said you were hurrying."

            "Oh, yes.  Right."  And she turned to go, continuing to run in the direction of Police Plaza.  Looking back over her shoulder at the man.  Strangely enough, he was now walking back the same way he had been coming from when she had bashed into him.

* * * * *

Artemis gave another look at the screen with the Brambling details and pulled out the cable attaching the laptop to Butlers mobile which was servicing for an Internet connection.  He flipped the phone open and dialed in the number.

            It rang almost 8 times before a gruff man picked it up.

_            "Brambling household.  Who is speaking?"_

            "Artemis Fowl.  I'm Bramb-- Liam's … acquaintance."

_            "Yes.  I'll notify him that you are on the phone."_

            Fur Elise played into the earpiece.  Artemis tapped his fingers on the door and looked out at the passing landscape - they were almost at Tara.

_            "Fowl?  Are you going to--"_

            "I need to know how to translate the last of the code."

_            "But it's finished.  Why would you--"_

            "I need you to tell me how the numeric fractions are translated.  It's important."

_"That's easy.  It's a computer font.  MS Reference 2.  Listen, I need your hel--" _

   Artemis shut the phone with a snap and pulled up a word program on his computer.  How could he be so stupid to have missed doing something as simple as that?  He pulled up the numeric code that had been causing him so much trouble on screen.

            He cross-referenced it to the alphabet in MS Reference 2.  It fit. The last of the messages.  Perhaps it could tell him more about what The People had to do with all this.

            _'The batch to control the writer Taliesin is also ready.  You have to tell me names so that I can prepare it for administration… will that...  Action to be taken soon.' _

            Butler looked in the rear-view mirror again to check on Artemis.  After translating the last of the messages that he had been stressing over for so long he looked more stressed and puzzled than ever.  The gold coin found its way back into his hand and began to roll.

* * * * *

Holly was breathing hard as she ran up the steps of the makeshift LEP headquarters which was being used while Police Plaza was being renovated after the disaster that was the Goblin Rebellion.  These offices were small and only the senior administrators had anything which could resemble an office even in bad lighting.  The rest of the LEP, when not in the field, had to make do with a series of tables in a large room - which was also the mess hall.

            Holly walked in unnoticed and moved over to sit down at one of the benches in the corner that the recon squad had made their own.  Some of the others gave her a small and weary smile as she sat down in front of the pile of paperwork that was topped by a bright orange notice proclaiming that it was her job for the day.  The rest of the squad's benches were mostly empty – the crews posted to various places around the city in an attempt to keep the public and riots down.  From the look of the frantic secretaries at the door, it clearly wasn't working very well.

            Holly was flipping over to the next page to see if it was even _slightly_ more interesting when Commanders Root and Azores came bursting in through the front doors in the middle of an argument.  Root looked so furious he was almost purple and his lower eyelid was sure to be twitching, whereas Azores had the look of stupid calmness that comes with businessmen and office-workers who are too arrogant and complacent.  Root was doing his very best to not spit in his co-worker's face but with Root… His face tells all.

            "But see here, Julius.  Your recon teams are not equipped to deal with things like this.  This is a physical and peace-keeping exercise—"

            "_SO_!  We need all the arms we can get and recon is better trained than the street officers.  We don't need arguments! …We need a miracle."

            "But what about equipment?  We don't even have any reasonable guns to give them with the Koboi stuff out of commission and lack of supplies.  And there's only one pair of wings left and that's completely broken!  Your men can't help if they don't have anything to fight with."

            "This isn't about _fighting_.  It's about _keeping the peace_!We need officers to help calm down the scared civilians.  They don't even need to be armed – it's better if they're not!  They need to been seen and need to show that everything is under control.  And my recon are the best there are for sensibility and—"

            "But nothing is under control!  And what about Short?!  Hmmmm?  She's not—"

            "_Captain_ Short is the best of the best.  She's going to the riot at Fisher street, where the bulk of the AAA is.  Short!  Go to Foaly.  He'll sort you out."

            Holly paused and stared at him from over her paperwork.

            "That's an order!  _Now_, Short!"

            Holly pushed herself off the bench and past Commander Azores who was stuttering and trying to hold Root back.  She could hear the sounds of places being assigned to her colleagues by her Commander as she jogged past the secretaries and smiled slightly.  Root was definitely one of a kind.

            Once Holly got to Foaly's temporary Op Center it became apparent that no equipment was quite accurate.  She was being sent to the worst riot in the Underground with a barely working Nutrino Blaster (the original model that had never been much good) and, after realising that the last pair of wings defiantly did not work, her own legs to get her to the other side of the city.       

            She jogged most of the way and only slowed down slightly when she came to the junction of Cable and Fisher streets.  She could see the moving crowds down towards her right, and the center of attention was a flying sprite high above the heads of the rest who appeared to be yelling out encouragements to the mob.  He was the main source of trouble.  Holly took off running again, watching the crowd to see were help was needed and where it would be better to get out of the way and flee.  Most of the LEP forces in this area were some of the first out and so a great many of them were flying above the crowd, although admittedly, very lethargically.  And half a dozen fairies were trying to creep up behind the flying leader, led by Captain Vein – one of the best in the force.     

            Holly reached the throng and began to move about the edges trying to get some of the People who were unsure about their stance to go home.  There was even a few young kids who looked stuck and so she helped to make a pathway out so that they could go back to their homes.  Occasionally Holly looked up at into the air where the real riot was going on and sighed at her inability to do anything.  

            The crew above were fighting against the police forces, without weapons but there were quite a few sprites and their species are known for their proficiency in aerial combat.  A Lieutenant came down after being punched from the air and she rushed over to him, lent a bit of her magic, and then, when she knew that he was going to be all right, pulled off his wings and took to the air.  Here she could make a difference.

            She circled around and joined onto Vein's team who were still trying to bring down a group of fierce protesters whose purple armbands designated them as belonging to the AAA.  The main sprite who was vocalising so loudly was in the center with a band of followers surrounding him, protecting him.  There was at least 10 rebels and the team which was trying to take them was only small – the rest of the force being held up elsewhere.  It would be difficult and it was also so very important.  The center sprite looked like someone quite high up and the LEP was clueless as to the plan of the organisation and needed some people for questioning.

            Just as they were getting ready to make a group charge, Holly spotted someone in the remains of the scattered crowd below.  It was the man from the street who she had bashed into.

            And then the troops around her were pushing her into the melee of the aerial battle dance.

* * * * *

The car glided to a stop close to the hedge that was the boundary between the fay Tara and the open grasslands of the humans.  Before Butler had even pushed down the hand break, Artemis was out of the car and staring at the hedge as if it was the embodiment of all his other, more serious, obstacles.  Butler got out himself and looked around him before moving to Artemis' side.  Artemis pulled out two modified versions of the fairy helmets, handing one to Butler and putting the other on his own head.

            And, with Butler taking point, they walked through the hedge.  And through the sunglasses they saw … no one.

            The entirety of Tara, favoured holiday destination and 'to be' spot of the Fairy world was empty.  It was one of those moments when you expect cartoonish tumbleweed to blow across the ground.

            "Artemis." Butler called and Artemis turned around.

            Butler was holding a female fairy over his head that was dressed in a uniform of some sort (not of the LEP) and with an absolutely astonishing hairstyle, which almost looked like a three-tier cake.  And she looked quite terrified of being 4 foot taller than she naturally was.

            Artemis felt a bit of a pang looked at her petrified face. "Why, don't you put her down, Butler?  I don't think she'll be going anywhere soon."  And she wasn't.  Well … maybe to the bathroom.

            Artemis took off the helmet-sunglasses and peered at her name badge.  Translated it said "Hello.  My Name is Cheryl Tumbleweed.  I'm here to help."  He had expected a tumbleweed to blow across the clearing but not quite like this.

"I have a way for you to help, Cheryl.  I'm—"

Her voice trembled but still retained its nasal qualities. "Artemis Fowl?"

"Why, yes I do believe I am."

"You won't do much good if you want to kidnap _me_ because no fairy is ever going to give you any more gold!"

"I.  Don't.  Care.  I want you to pass on a message for me.  To Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon."

She gasped in the theoretical way that Artemis had previously thought had only belonged to bad soap-opera acting.  "Were you in it together?  Everyone thought it was suspicious that you managed to outsmart the LEP but if the crazy captain was in on it as well… that must have been why you managed it."

Artemis took a deep breath and tried to calm down and not strangle the fairy with his own hands.  "What is your job, Cheryl?"

"My name isn't Cheryl!  I never told you that my name was Cheryl!  You aren't so—"

"It's on your name tag.  And I already called you by it.  Now, for the last time, tell me what your job is."

"I'm a security guard.  I mainly just help tourists around and the like.  But it's really dead quiet today because the shuttle service has been cancelled because of some riots.  I had been sent up before it all began happening though."

Artemis breathed out, "What's been happening?  Nevermind, I know you won't answer and I'm sure it's not that important.  And _thank you_ for telling me.  So that means that you have some method of communication to the Underground, right?"

"Well, yes.  But I'm not helping you!  That would be treasonish."

"There is not such word as," his voice dripped with distaste, "'_treasonish'_ and believe it or not I'm trying to _help_."

"Why would you be doing that?"

Artemis was silent for a moment in half-stunned contemplation, but then Butler brushed past him and pulled Cheryl into the air by the front of her uniform for a second time. "Listen to me you little garden ornament.  You are going to listen to Master Artemis and then you're going to do what you're told.  You are not going to argue and you're not even going to speak.  Understand?"

She nodded and looked down at the ground seeming to move far below her.

Artemis moved forward again.  "Listen closely.  You are going to repeat this to either Captain Short, Commander Root or Foaly the LEP technician.  Short's life is in danger.  There is a threat on her life or health, which I think is coming from a human, but it has at least some fairy involvement.  She is going to be a target of this… enemy… and I think she might be exposed to some sort of disease.  I don't know any details but just tell her to get out of sight."

"And you want me to—"

"Pass that on to Short, Root or Foaly.  Got it?  Good.  Do.  It.  _Now_." Yelled Butler.    
  


Cheryl scampered off and opened what looked like a more sophisticated version of a walkie-talkie.

Artemis and Butler made there way back out to where the car was parked nearby; Artemis looking as pensive and troubled as ever and Butler, looking over at his charge, concluded that this was probably more because of the inexplicable nature of his own actions rather than whatever it was that was going on.  Lots of things had not been exactly 'normal' lately.

They entered the car and Butler continued to look at him in the rear-view mirror.  Artemis stared out the window at the Tara hedge for a moment or two then turned back to his computer and aimlessly scrolled through whatever it was that was on the screen.  Butler took the silence as an opportunity.

"What do we do now, Artemis?"

"I don't…  We're going to Brambling's place in Southern Kildare.  I'll get you the address."

Butler turned and looked at Artemis with a shocked expression, asking the question with his eyes.

"There is more to him than meets the mind."

Butler half-shrugged to himself but he also knew that he wasn't going to get anything more from Artemis.  He started up the car and pulled back out onto the road.

Artemis was staring at the screen in shock.  There were some of Brambling's files that he had left on the school system.  And they were signed 'Taliesin'.

* * * * *

Cheryl literally scampered off when Artemis and Butler left her and she listened carefully to hear for the sounds of them leaving.  She was tempted for a moment to ignore the Mud Boy and refuse to tell anyone what he had said because it could be a trick but they had used eye-ball orders so she couldn't stop herself from carrying them out and … he had sounded serious. 

            So, she got a line through to her friend Betsie who works as a secretary in the LEP (in the Retrieval section too, which is a high honour) to see about delivering the Mud Boy's message.  The line rang twice and then Betsie's voice came onto the line.

            "LEPRetrieval.  How can I help you?"

            "Betsie, it's me, Cheryl."

            "Oh, have you called about the Amalbus Dinnerware party at my place tomorrow?  You really shouldn't call me in work hours; I deal with _emergencies_ you know."

            "I think it might be more important than your Dinnerware party, Betsie."

            "Good, _reliable_ stuff is just so hard to come by these days.  But Amalbus is still exceptionally good.  It's all that fancy-pants technology that's doing it.  Why I believe that my Ronnie was so—"

            "I've got to talk to Commander Root.  Or the girl captain.  I got a message I have to pass on."

            "Since when do you know either of those two?  They're high up's they are!  How about you give me the message and I'll write them a little memo and get Sandra to pop it in on a desk?"

            "I'm under" her voice dropped to a secretive level "_eye-ball orders_ to pass the message onto the Commander, the Captain or some technician."

            "Eye-ball orders!  There's a Mud Man involved?!"

            Cheryl's voice went even quieter and you could almost hear the winks.  "A Mud _Boy_.  Fowl.  He says he has to warn the girl captain – the one he kidnapped - about … something.  I shouldn't tell you what."

            "Now this is big.  I beat I could even patch this call through to him rather than give it to Janie to handle.  This is exciting!  I wonder what it all means.  I'll get you through in a sec hang on."

            Against all odds, Fur Elise is the standard call waiting music for the Underground as well.

            Five minutes later, (after Root had terrified Cheryl even more than Butler had and so gotten the full story out of her,) Root stormed into the almost empty hall of desks and offices with his face even redder than a squashed tomato.  He seized one of the only people left – happening to be Grub Kelp – and sent him scurrying for Fisher street with the orders of "GET SHORT BACK HERE, _NOW_!!" ringing in his delicate ears.  

            By the time Grub got back to the LEP offices he really, _really_ wished his Mummy had talked him out of joining the LEP like his brother Trouble had done.

            He barged back in the door still running and quite obviously having a mild asthma attack.  Root was standing in the middle of the room.  Waiting.  And glaring at anyone who so much as even looked in his direction.

            "_Well_?  Where is she?"  He asked in a seemingly calm voice that was nevertheless layered with palatable tension.

            "When I got there they had pretty much calmed everything down.  They—"

            "I don't _care_ about the rioting!  Where is Short?!"

            "Newt said that she fainted dead away a few minutes back.  They think that she must have been hit on the head or something but apparently it was a bit strange because nobody was near her at the time.  She's still unconscious but Trouble's men are bringing her back now."

            Root head flopped down and if someone had been very, very close and listening hard they would have heard.  "D'Arvit."  But it was so softly spoken that it was more of a prayer than a blasphemy.      


	8. Romeo and Juliet

**Disclaimer:  **I've said it enough times, haven't I?

**Author's Note:  **Again I put out a plea for people to review when they find mistakes.  Anything from a spelling or grammar error to my knowledge of Canon or Ireland falling short.  Please.  If you do I'll give you praise and a plushy doll of your favourite AF character as long as it's not Root or Grub.

**Thanks to: Tie Kerl**, (breakfasted is a word surprisingly enough.  And I believe Root has lots of possibilities.)** Bride of Lister**, (I don't know what to do with your spaces.  I can't even see what you're saying when I view the page.  Does that happen to you on other stories?  On other stories of mine?)** The Seasyngr**, (I was hoping that more people would have put together the parts of my plot.  I've been despairing in the readers of late and I don't know how to put in more hints.  I'm glad someone can see it coming together.)** Ivycreeper**, (Yes, you do sound like a bloodthirsty creature.  But that's better than a MS-loving one.  I'm glad you like my Amalbus Dinnerware – I was picturing a few people in my head as I wrote the parts of Cheryl and Betsie and they are the types who host those bloody things.  I couldn't help myself…) and** Dreamy-eyes and Midnight **(I'm sorry if it's confusing at points it's just that when I'm writing I'm trying to be subtle and I think I'm letting on more than I actually am.  Sorry but hopefully it should all come together at some point.) 

And to **Skywise **from whose bio I stole my quote for the chapter.  Sorry for that Emma.

And also to **Skye Firebane** because I nicked the idea of the name 'Johann' from her. 

* * *

Chapter 7

Romeo and Juliet 

"We work in the dark, we do what we can. Our doubt is our passion, our passion is our task and the rest is the madness of art." 

-Henry James

Liam stood still and breathed in and out a few times before entering the room once more.  His sister on the bed looked paler than usual and her dark hair stood out in stark-relief against the white of the pillowcase and the pallor of her skin.  But the least comfort was the placement of her body and hands, which quite clearly said that they had not moved to those positions on their own accord.  She was lying straight in the bed with her hands pulled over the blue quilt and sitting upon her chest.  Liam couldn't stop the thought that it was like a body laid out for a funeral from sneaking into his mind. 

            The scariest thing, apart from the unnatural aspect of the illness in the first place, was the way that even though Jac had a very high fever she wasn't moving at all.  She wasn't throwing herself around in an effort to get away from the heat and she hadn't moved at all since she had been found by Cathy in a faint not much more than 24 hours ago.  It was as if she wasn't even having feverish dreams and it was because of that Liam was so scared.  No dreams meant that her mind wasn't awake.  She was comatose.

            Liam heard the door open behind him and Marcus came in almost silently and re-took up his place beside Jac's head with a fresh cloth for her forehead.  Liam himself sat down on the side of the bed and took one of his sisters hands in his and stroked it aimlessly for a time as his eyes flitted around the room at all the little artefacts that made it so special.  But soon he replaced it on the bed, trying to move it so it looked like it had been dropped naturally and stood back up in agitation.

            Everything he could see in the room was a painful reminder of the fact that his sister wasn't really there.

            He was just about to flee from the room yet again when the door bell rung.

* * * * *

The car wound up the drive slowly and with a certain degree of caution that went everywhere with Butler.  It was surprising enough that there hadn't been a proper gate onto the Brambling property but the circumstances such as he understood from what Artemis had told him were very suspicious.  If, as it appeared, the mysterious code _was_ linked to the illness of Brambling's younger sister then someone with quite a reasonable amount of power and influence had to be involved.  They could only guess right now about how these humans might know of the fairies and how the links fitted together but hopefully when – _if -_ demands were given then they might know something more.

            Butler stopped the car and quickly got out, moving to the front door.  He looked back at the car and saw that Artemis clearly hadn't even realised the stop and was still staring, unseeingly, at his lap.  Then just as he was about to move and open the door, Artemis looked up and realised the change of scenery.  As his charge opened the door and stood up, Butler saw the gold coin with the hole vanish back into a pocket - clearly Artemis had been so lost in thoughts about the fairies and his own reactions to them.

            Artemis smoothed his trousers down and pressed the button for the doorbell.

            It was less than a minute when a very bedraggled Liam Brambling who looked as if he'd spent several days in a windstorm without a comb opened the door.

            But as he registered who was standing on the doorstep his mouth fall open in shock, he was stunned and frozen in place.  It didn't even wear off as Artemis pushed past him into the Hall, took off his warm coat and hung it on the hallstand.

            In fact, the first to recover from Artemis' well thought out display was Marcus, who had come down the stairs to assist Liam with whoever the visitors could be.  And his words were what shocked everyone else into moving once again.

            "Romeo!"

              Artemis looked around him looking at first for the source of the call and then for whoever it might be directed towards.

            "Romeo Butler!  I _thought_ you were employed by the Fowls.  Haven't seen you in ages, cousin.  How long?  And how's the little sister going?  She's in training isn't she?"

            Marcus had made his way down the stairs in a hurry and gave a heart-felt embrace to Butler who was still only half-way through the doorway.

            "Marc." Said Butler affectionately slapping him on the back.

            Liam and Artemis were for once in agreement in their confusion of the situation.  Liam looked as if this was just a painful straw to add to the camel's back and Artemis was just looking back and forth from Butler to … the other Butler.  And then his ears snagged an unoccupied part of his brain and started screaming for attention.

            "Romeo…" Artemis mussed,  "Romeo and Juliet...  You never told me your name was Romeo." And with that Artemis felt a hot flush of embarrassment - which he barely managed to subdue - at not knowing the true first name of the man he'd known all his life.  "On your passport it says your first name is 'Johann'.  You told me that your name was Johann when I asked you.  You lied?" 

            "Johann's my middle name, Artemis.  No one calls me by Romeo.  It was my parent's joke as you can guess."

            "But… How could I not have known?"

"I'm sorry, Artemis.  I just—"

"Juliet even calls you 'Butler' most of the time and when she doesn't it's 'bro'."

"Does it matter?" yelled Liam.

            Quite clearly it did matter to Artemis but he took a deep breath and just turned to Liam.  "Can you tell me what happened to your sister?"

            "She collapsed last night at about 7 pm."  He started leading the way up to the room where Jac lay.  "She hasn't woken since.  At first we thought it was one of her severe allergies – cashew nuts, pistachios or mangoes – and so we called an ambulance and injected her with adrenaline but it wasn't.  Luckily.  She's still in a fever and I think it's now a coma as well."  They had reached the door with Artemis listening attentively and here Liam stopped.  "Why did you come, Fowl?"

            "Because I was curious as to what all this had to do with Taliesin and some other friends I know."

            Liam's mouth dropped open and he froze in place then recovered, speaking too quickly.  "Taliesin?  I really don't know what you're talking about, Fowl."

            "That just incriminated you as well as your essays in your school account do.  Your little pseudonym for writing letters to the public, don't you remember?  Haven't you figured it out yet?  This isn't a natural disease.  It was created to make your sister sick and so whoever it was making it could control what you write."

            "But… Why would they?  What would they want me to write?  And why would I do it for them?"

            "They have the antidote – probably something only temporary – and they'll give it to you in return for you writing something which is about whatever they want it to be about.  And as for what it might be about… religions, wars, anti-American, pro-Iraq, lies in the UN, communism, defence of nuclear warfare, _anything_!"

            Liam still looked hopelessly lost so Artemis simply pushed past him for the second time in five minutes and into the room.  Liam shook his head a few times to clear it then followed him.

            Artemis had his hand on Jac's forehead and moved the hand that Liam had so artistically placed down on the bed in a natural way back onto her chest so that he had room on the side of the bed.  "You called an ambulance?"  Liam nodded.  "_And_…? Why isn't this girl in hospital?"

            "The doctor thought it was only a faint from stage fright - she had her school concert on yesterday night - or maybe the flu.  She's worsened recently.  I didn't want to get a doctor back to see her because I don't think they'd recognise it either.  And it could cause more harm than help."

            "I agree."  He felt her neck under the chin and stood back up.  "Do you have a needle and a chemistry or biology set so that I can test her blood for foreign bodies?"  Liam looked blank.  "A microscope at least?"

            Liam shook his head yet again.   

            Artemis was stunned.  "What have you been doing?  She's not going to get better by you watching over her.  I… I can't believe you.  Not figuring out the real code is one thing but just … sitting here worrying!  I don't believe it.  It's important to you so why aren't you doing anything?"

            "Okay, but what was I meant to do?  And what real code?"

            "Figure out whatever it is that's making your sister sick!  And you never did figure out that if you broke the code up into its components - splitting up the Greek from the Ghnommish and the Chinese, etcetera - and translated each one separately there was another message inside it.  Messages about bio-weapons and one aimed to control Taliesin."

            "Ghnommish?"

            Artemis started slightly but recovered and ignored the query.  "I don't even know why I'm trying to help you."  He stormed past Liam and back out into the corridor.  

"Butler." He called.

Butler was standing at the end of the corridor next to… the Brambling Butler.  He nodded.

"Can you go back to the Manor and get things which you might think we'll need to figure out what this disease is – set of standard chemicals, my strongest microscope, anything else you see that might be useful."

"Certainly Master Artemis.  Cousin Marcus is to take care of you until I come back.  I trust him."  Artemis nodded his assent.  "I'll be back A-SAP."

"Thankyou, Butler."

Butler strode down the stairs and out the front door as if barging into a strangers home and then barging back out and, in general, acting as if you owned it was a completely natural thing to be doing.

Artemis turned to Liam.  "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you, Brambling."

"Then why are you doing it at all?"

"Because of—  I want to—  I don't have to explain myself to you."

* * * * *

The underground room was dark and dank in nature and atmosphere.  The high ceiling was vaulted but this was more because of the moisture that ran down the walls rather than for any aesthetic value it might have.  Flickering electric lights sat at intervals along the walls but beside the centre stage-like platform Quentin Thyme had insisted on having flame-torches for the guttering effect they threw around at the occupants of the room.

            It could not be argued that the torches made the green skin of the sprite look particularly eerie and surreal.  And no one would argue if they valued their own skin.

            There was a small group of AAA members with their purple armbands standing at attention before the terrifying spectacle of their leader.  The armbands were another invention of Quentin's - worn to inspire fear and awe when the public was faced with a member, even if they were alone.  It was dark purple with a single white 7-pointed star in the centre – a point for each of the seven leaders and ideals of The Ancients.  It was the symbol of the fairies who were more powerful than their bastard children who now live beneath the earth in fear of the Mud People.  The symbol held meaning to everyone below ground.  This was another thing that Quentin had discovered from the Mud People who are so eager and ready to go to war.  In the Second World War (Quentin was highly amused at the fact that they had seen fit to number them as if it was expected that there would be many after) Adolf Hitler had taken a Hindu symbol for peace – the Swastika – and reversed it to create a new meaning and a new Swastika of his own.  It was appropriate to take a symbol of power greater than anything else and use it for identification.

            Quentin's voice echoed up the vaulted ceiling and back down when he finally broke the silence.  "Friends," he called.  And no one was going to admit that they were not friends of Quentin because that would then make them enemies.  And no one wanted to be enemies with him.  "What was that display today?"

            There was silence.  A young sprite in the front row opened his mouth as if to speak but at a nudge from the veteran next to him, closed it again.

            "Okay then, I'll tell you what it was.  It was immature.  It was badly considered.  It was petty.  It was unorganised.  It was… _pitiful_.  I've told you before that our first proper strike has to be the best, the most flawless, the most viable step to fear.  Now, with that unwanted effort of today and those of recent times we are now exposed to the LEP as something they have to watch out for, something they are curious about.  This isn't what we want.  They should fear us immediately.  Fear us so much that they don't know what to do when faced with one of us.  So much fear that they hide rather than fight.  So much fear that they don't know who we are; and don't _want_ to know for fear of new nightmares where the demons come out and can be identified as fellow Fairies.  This isn't because we are unable to fight… but because fear as deep as that only breeds more fear and in not many years we would have complete control over all the pathetic creatures who wouldn't be able to even fathom leaving their living rooms.

            "We are going to have a proper strike and we are going to implement it soon."

            Were this anyplace else, with any other leader, there would have been cheering.  But here there was only more terrified silence.

            "Briggs.  You have the parts that you need for the bomb?"

            One dwarf towards the back nodded.

            "Including … my suggestions?"

            The dwarf paled but nodded again.

            "Good.  The rest of you will understand how it should be done very soon.  Even the shadows will be too scared to show themselves in our presence once we finish."

* * * * *

Basil Rune gulped noticeably and then stood like the majority of the members present.  He moved towards the crowded exit and with one look back at Quentin, left the meeting room.  He couldn't stand to live this lie every moment – a lie that wouldn't even let him escape in sleep – at least, not for much longer.

* * * * *

Artemis turned his back on Liam and stalked back into the room where Jac lay.  He moved quickly about the bed and once on the other side spun around quickly.

"Does it matter why?  Just be grateful that I'm doing anything for you."

And with that he was once again businesslike, with a cold stability that eludes most people whatever the situation.  Liam blinked once again and his eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated his classmate.  Artemis Fowl was definitely someone who…  then he half understood, as much as anyone can understand.  Artemis Fowl is someone who can't quite comprehend what they're capable off.  Someone who might even be scared of their own mind.  Someone who was just like a 'normal' person in that he doesn't understand his latest series of actions.

Liam was halfway through congratulating himself on this insight and even comparing it to his own situation when a phone rang.  Artemis shifted around to find the offending mobile and pulled it open with a flourish.

"Yes, Butler?"

Artemis half-frowned and changed his tone when he heard the voice on the other end of the line.  And what the speaker was saying was obviously shouted because Liam could hear every word.

"_Fowl!  What do you know about this disease thing?  And you better hope to all the Seven Lords that this isn't one of your tricks or 'enterprises' because if it is Root's going to kill you.  Twice!_"

Fowl's enterprises?  The Seven Lords?  Then Liam's mind snapped back to the important thing.  The disease.  Someone else was involved in this disease.  Liam's eyes strayed to his sister in the bed.

"Foaly.  Did something happen to Hol—Short?"  The silence on the other end of the line answered for him.  "It's not one of my … activities.  Trust me.  I don't even know what it is or why it involves the Fairies.  Or from the other point of view, why it involves Humans."

Liam blinked in curiosity.  Did _Fowl just identify a group of _somethings _as '__Fairies'?  And talk as if these were somehow separate from humans?  _

"I swear I know next to nothing about this.  And everything I know is from deduction and some coded message that was freely given out up here.  Captain Short isn't the only one who's been targeted.  I'm at the house of a … friend," this word was said with distaste, "who was also implicated in the code.  His sister has got the same disease as Captain Short has, I presume."

The answer to this wasn't loud enough for Liam to be able to tell what was being said but it went on for a reasonable amount of time.

"Right.  That would probably be best.  Definitely.  You do know that the existence of The People would have to be exposed to—"

The speaker on the other end obviously cut him off.

"Ha!  You insult the name of a genius just by existing, Foaly.  So you're going to—Right.  Do you need me to tell you where--  Okay!"  Fowl's free hand flew up in an unconscious gesture of exasperated surrender.  

"Right."  And Fowl snapped the phone shut.  And his eyes flickered slightly in anger or _something when he caught sight of Liam on the other side of the bedroom.  And then changed from the insecure boy that Liam had deduced before in an instant._

"Change of setting is always good.  We're going to be moving your sister to a new ward.  Do you have a large room without many furnishings that we could set up as a workroom as well?  We need to…"

And with that Artemis Fowl completely took over the Brambling house.  Jac was moved downstairs to the library and a long table was set up in preparation of the things which Romeo Butler was retrieving from Fowl's own home.  And when it finally got too much and Liam was about to flop down on the floor in despair the doorbell rang for the second time that night.  And Liam followed the other boy out to the main hall to be greeted by the strangest looking people he had ever seen.  And they were just about to cross the threshold.

Liam's shock was in his wide-eyes and his mouth that was hanging open to the cold air from outside.

"What are _they?!"_


	9. Physiology and Psychology

**Disclaimer:** Although I share many things in common with the great Eoin Colfer (including initials *grin*) owning the Artemis Fowl books is not one of our similarities.  And the opinion of Mulch being the best character isn't mutual either; he definitely underestimates the power of Root.  And thinking that having Juliet become Artemis' Butler is anything more than kinky… Well, we are quite different.  But if I _did_ have rights to the AF books Juliet wouldn't get near Arty with a ten-foot pole.****

**Thanks to:**  Both **Kitty Rainbow** and **Lady Game **for looking over various parts of this chapter while it was in progress.

And thanks for reviewing to: 

**Tie Kerl **– Who would be cruel enough to name the kids Romeo and Juliet…?  I would obviously.  Although I do favour Alix and Felix for twins.

**Skywise** – Thankooes.  Your comments and reviews are always very nice.

**The Seasyngr** – Not a Liam Brambling fangirl!!!  AHHHHH!!!!!  I personally am absolutely _dying_ to kill him off.  Damn plot for not letting me do that.

**Skye Firebane** – I think that Johann fits Butler best now – you've converted me.  But isn't Romeo so evil?  Isn't it evil enough for your gory, evil tastes?

**Ophelia who is insane** – Thankyo for your praise and comments.  I used the most standard and accepted scale for IQ rating in here but there are other tests were the standards are higher and a genius come in at about 240.

**Eleida** – I love your cute reviews that always insist that you wrote a better review in your sleep.

**Mignonne **– Thankyou for your comments.  ::Hands over a plushy Foaly toy because I promised I would.::

**Kyoko-san** – Pist, I've got a Gary Stu instead.  See… ::points down at Liam::  Thanks, although I'm sure I'm writing Artemis OOC – maybe that's just me being paranoid.

**Lady Game** – Poor Liam?  You already pity him?  He's going to be the leading expert in pain before I'm through with him.

**Spider-elf** – If I don't keep going I've give orders to Lady Game to shot me.  So I probably will.

**Mage Kitty** – At least someone's rooting for Holly.  Everyone seems to think that Liam's the one going through the most pain here.  But why isn't anyone rooting for Root?  ::thwaps self:: That hasn't come up yet…

**Idria** – Thanks, I'd forgotten about those few little mistakes since it's been a while since I've looked over it all.  And I try to make shorter sentences but it's not really in my style.

**Moonlight** – Thank you.  Although I wouldn't know how genii speak either so I'm probably very wrong.  At least when I write Liam OOC it only looks like a character twist.

**TrisaniSlytherin** – You only have to wait two days.  I'll probably have to wait another month before I get to see chapter 9.

**Chapter Eight**

Physiology and Psychology

"One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter; so it's only when their fellows and comrades reject them that the true evil can be seen."

- Anonymous

"We're elves, idiot.  Now are you going to invite us in or are we going to be still here when the sun comes up?"

Liam blinked at them in shock and numbly moved out the doorway so that there was room for Root and Holly to move in past him.

"You don't get it kid.  You actually have to _invite us in_."

Liam's mouth was incredibly dry but he opened it and made a reasonable attempt at 'come in'.  Root growled that it was good enough and pushed past into the entrance hall.  Artemis slowly moved past his classmate to shut the still open door with a resounding clank.  And Liam came to his senses.

"Elves?  Are you serious?  You can't be serious.  That would be... If there are elves in the world how come no one knows about them?  It would be impossible to hide a species on the earth unless it was in the middle of the Amazon or on Antartica.  This is another of your mind games, isn't it Fowl?  You hired some dwarves to dress up and come here and pretend to be elves just to make me uneasy.  And you were just sprouting things with no meaning when that man called you!"

"No I didn't.  And that 'man' is a Centaur."

"You did!  You had to!  This is just silly.  Elves?  _Centaurs_?  Not even a kid would believe that.  How stupid do you think I am?  You're completely unbalanced.  Next thing you'll be telling me that you've met a Leprechaun and stolen their gold."

Root spoke up.  "Actually, Fowl _did _do that.  And now you've met a LEPrecon officer as well.  My name's Commander Root and you're going to get over your disbelief _very_ quickly because Fowl seems to think we need help as much as you do.  Although, why the Mud Boy would want to help us at all is beyond me."

"You're... you're really an elf?"  Root nodded.  "But you can't be a leprechaun because they wear knickerbockers and tri-point hats and those little shoes and are tiny."

"You idiotic human!  _Get over _the fact that fairies exist!  Captain Short here is very heavy and--"

But Liam had murmured _'fairies?' _in a small voice and crumbled to the floor.

* * * * *

Artemis looked down at the limb body of Liam Brambling lying on the marble.  "At least he's stopped asking those annoying questions."

"_Fowl_..." growled Root.  "That was not amusing.  You could have told him about us before we showed up so it wouldn't be such a shock.  You only didn't because you thought it would be funny.  How very immature.  Hol-- Short's incredibly sick and all you can do is play mind tricks."

"I didn't--"

"Don't even bother with it, Fowl.  I don't care.  I just want to know what this is and how to fix it and if I could get all that without having any contact with you then I would."  Artemis looked down at his shoes and kept silent.  "Where should I put the Captain?"

"Through here, Commander.  You can put her on the couch for now and I'll get Marcus to bring another bed in.  And to pick up Brambling from the hall."  

* * * * *

Briggs the Dwarf and bomb engineer for the AAA, felt a warm breath on the back of his neck and tried to focus through the creepy sensation on the parts in front of him.  It was a simple bomb - not fancy or elaborate, just doing its job in the most efficient way possible.  A very, _very_ efficient way, Briggs reflected.

"It's almost ready."  It was rumination, not a question.

"Yes, Sir."  

Briggs felt the fairy back away slightly to lift into the air, hovering above his servant. 

There was a knock on the door and a respectful pause before one of the low-ranked elves entered the room, bowed before Quentin and then finally raised his head – still not meeting the eyes of the Sprite.  

"I have what you asked for."

"Good.  Leave it on that table."  The elf hurried over and placed a wrapped parcel down reverently.  Then he turned back to Quentin with have a question in his eyes.  "What are you waiting for?  Leave."

He scurried out without so much as a fear-filled glance back over his shoulder.

Quentin waited until the sounds of panicked running faded and then slowly sank back to floor level, approaching the table.  He stripped the dull wrapping with quick movements and gave the item a glance before half-covering it once again and sweeping from the room.  

From the corner of his eye Briggs saw what looked like a video camera through the packaging.  But what Quentin Thyme would be doing with a video camera was beyond guesswork.  

* * * * *

When Liam awoke it was with a decisively groggy feeling and a fierce throbbing at the base of his skull.  He couldn't quite remember what had happened but he must have fallen or hit his head quite badly judging from the severity of the headache.  He tried to open his eyes but that hurt somewhat so he decided to keep them closed until he either drifted off the sleep again or he felt slightly better.  He listened, almost detached, to the voices around him.  He couldn't quite recognise who they belonged to but they were close by.

"--why doesn't that work?  Isn't magic supposed to be able to cure anything?  It can give some back their sight and graft a finger which has been ripped off but it can't cure this disease?"

"Foaly said that it's probably because it's a manufactured illness.  A false disease.  No fairy has ever really researched into how our magic works.  We don't really need doctors or medical scientists very often because most races of The People can cure themselves and those that can't can be simply cured by another - usually an elf.  We don't know if it identifies diseases and cures them or something else - like maybe if the mind says the body has a disease it flushes everything which isn't natural out.  So if it's the first thing, our magic wouldn't be able to heal anything made because it couldn't recognise it.  And why did you contact us if you thought that Holly would be able to cure it as soon as she got it?"

"I didn't remember healing magic.  I was thinking too ... _human_ … to remember about it.  From what you've said it sounds as if magic works as your immune system.  It identifies the pathogen through something - probably like human T-cells recognising the protein coat - and then it destroys it.  But knowing why magic doesn't work to cure it doesn't help us figure out how we _can _cure it."

There was silence for a minute or two as both contemplated the problem - not realising the level of camaraderie between them now they had a common problem.  

"Well firstly, we can't figure out a cure before we know what it actually is.  And we won't have a hope in figuring it out till Butler gets back with my equipment that I could use to test their blood for foreign substances.  And I won't even know what I'm looking for in Captain Short's blood because if your magic _does_ make up the majority of your immune system then your blood work and anatomy will be radically different anyway.  I really don't know how helpful any of this will be."

"It's better than the alternative of a fairy medic trying to figure it out.  They wouldn't know where to start with blood testing and ... whatever else you were talking about.  Immune systems and all that.  I hate to admit it but Mud Men are better at us for bodies and anatomy.  You are the only person who could be able to help us."

"That must have been a painful thing to confess, Commander?  Did it feel worse than a dagger in the heart to acknowledge that 'Mud Men' can occasionally have their uses."

"Shut up, Fowl.  I really don't want to have to put up with your lame excuse for wit."

"Sorry."  There was some bustling around the room as Artemis checked on the conditions of Holly and Jac.  "Where did the term 'Mud Men' come from anyway since you don't seem to mean it as an insult all the time?" said Artemis as he bent over Holly feeling her heart rate and taking her temperature once more.

"You came from the mud.  Through evolution you became what you are now.  So you are Men of the Mud since that is where your origins lie."

Artemis gave a snort "That's sounds as though you didn't evolve at all.  That's impossible.  Everyone had to evolve from something else or you'd have to believe in Adam and Eve.  Darwinism is just the way it works."

"We didn't evolve from lower races into higher ones.  We were made - by The Ancients; by magic."

"Are you serious?"

"It's as true as I know.  We were created.  The bastards of a people who weren't even really from this earth.  They made us and then magic gave us life."

"That's... amazing; such a wonderful concept to think about.  Magic as something which can heal someone or help their strength is one thing but something which can create sentient races…  Incredible."

"You're acting like a child that's just been let loose in a sweetshop...  Or like the philosopher who's just discovered what the question is." 

Artemis gave Root a strange glance with bemused query in his eyes.

"Knowing the right question is what you get when you put life together with all its answers and it makes sense.  Questions are more important than answers and that's a truth in itself."

"I never imagined you would be one for the philosophical, Commander."

"I'm not!  Definitely not! Could you really imagine me as a philosopher?  And if you can you are clearly more insane than I had previously thought."  Then he changed the subject away from himself with all the grace of a baboon.  "Any changes in their conditions?"

"No.  Jac's temperature dropped slightly but then it rose again.  Hol-- The Captain's fever and heart rate are constant - not a good constant but at least it's not degrading further."

"It's eerie.  She hasn't moved at all since she fell sick.  I wouldn't have thought her to sleep like that.  She's too active, vibrant, to sleep soundly and still."

"She's not sleeping.  She's in a coma - if we could check her brainwaves there would be little or almost no activity.  She'd definitely not dreaming or in normal sleep patterns."

"Oh."

"But I think Brambling's sleeping naturally now."  And this was punctuated with a huge yawn that Artemis tried -and failed - to suppress.

"Go to sleep, Fowl.  Or you'll be useless to figure out whatever this thing is."

"But I need to keep an eye on them.  They could get worse before morning."

"I can take a temperature and count heartbeats.  It'll probably be the only thing I _can_ do and if anything major happens rest assured that you'll be woken.  And it's your sleeping time, whereas I'm barely halfway through my day.  You need to give your brain rest so that you can be more useful later."

"Right.  Well, I'll just... Doesn't matter."  And he left the room.

Root wandered past the patients before slumping back down in the chair he'd been sitting in before.  Then his actions hit him with the force of a lorry.  He'd been solicitous towards _Artemis Fowl_!  And he'd been enjoying their conversation!  

He momentarily wondered whether he'd been exposed to some mind-altering disease as well.

* * * * *

In the morning Artemis woke up with a strange feeling in is gut and the engormas face of Butler peering over him.

"Morning, Artemis."

"'orning 'utler…"

"Come on.  Your friend Brambling just woke up and I've brought the things you said you needed.  And also some extra clothes as I don't think that you'd appreciate being in those ones for another day.  And you'll also have to ring your mother.  She rang when I was at the manor and was quite worried about you."

Artemis seemed to have woken more completely and he managed a coherent 'thanks' to the promise of clean clothes.  But it was still an effort to pull himself out of the bed he had appropriated from Marcus the night before.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later he was wide awake and peering down a microscope after getting a blood sample from Holly.  The patients hadn't changed over the night much, only a slight rise in temperature but not enough to be overly worried about for a day if it remained a constant level of change.

It was what was underneath the microscope that was so amazing that even a first year student who hated everything about science might be converted.  Even a forty-year-old used car salesman would wish they hadn't dropped out of school all those years ago.

Unmagnified Holly's blood was a deeper red than human blood and with a sparkling sheen that must have something to do with fairy biology.  Highly magnified, Holly's blood was a warping, dancing mass of bright blue.  The magic in her blood looked almost alive and it was forming more patterns than a kaleidoscope in a tornado.  It was a wonderful thing to watch.  It… drew you in.  You could almost feel the magic dancing under your own skin just by looking at it.

But he couldn't see anything which was probably more unusual for a fairy.  

"Commander?"

"Yes, Fowl?"

Artemis removed himself from the tantalising image of Holly's bloodwork.  "Could you have a look at this?  I really can't know what's natural for a fairy."

Root grunted something that could have been a 'neither' but gestured for Butler to bring him a chair to stand on so he could look in the microscope at the current height.  He looked in it for a few moments before shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from what must have been just as drawing to him.

"I wouldn't have expected that, but I wouldn't know what I should have expected either.  In case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly the sciency-type."

"Well… Butler!"  he called across the room, "Could you bring another needle and vial?"

"Why would you..?  Oh.  _Oh_.  You're not?!"

Root's eyes widened and he looked positively scared and then glared at Artemis as if waiting for him to burst out laughing.  He did.  But he still held out a hand when Butler came over and grasped the needle.  And chocked over his laughter, "I think you might need to hold him still.  The Commander has a little problem with needles I believe."

Root looked as if he wanted to deny that but then he realized that if he did he would then have to take the injection without any form of complaint.  He opted to clench his jaw and not so subtly sidle away from the two grinning humans.

"Come on Commander, it's not all that bad.  Barely a pin-prick."

Root glared at Butler and didn't move any closer.  "Why do you need to get my blood anyway?  They're the one's who are sick!" he exclaimed with a gesture over to the two occupied beds on the other side of the room.

"Because I need to know what I'm looking for in Holly's blood.  If I don't know what a norma- _physically healthy_ – fairy's blood looks like how can I know what makes a fairy unhealthy?"

"It's just for Captain Short's welfare, Commander."  Said Butler in a soft voice.

Root swallowed noticeably and rolled up the sleeve on his tight LEP uniform, holding it out to Artemis.

Artemis nodded his thanks and drew the blood without saying anything.  Root's face cringed in pain and he looked positively sick the one time he looked down at the vial slowly filling, but then resolved to not look down again and just to take it without argument – and preferably without retching.

He felt a slight twinge as the needle left his skin and then a much more welcome – almost pleasurable – tingle as his magic healed the spot.   And sighed in relief.  And opened his eyes to see Artemis placing a small quantity of the likewise inhuman blood on a slide and peering at it under the microscope.

He waved Butler over and bade him to have a look at the slide as well.  And then called Root over as well.

The healthy blood had the same basic composition as Holly's blood had but with the most noticeable difference of the blue 'cells' (which were slightly darker and duller than Holly's) were immobile and simply drifting aimlessly.

"I bet that if we were to put a pathogen in that blood sample we would find that the magic would be instantly active."  He said as he pulled the slide of Root's blood off and replaced it with Holly's once more.  "At least we know now that there is definitely a physical element which is moving in the blood stream; although whatever it is could be everywhere in the body.  Well, it's a start at least."  And he looked back at the first sample, squinting in concentration.

 * * * * *

A reasonable time later when Liam came back into the room after having a shower, the sample had changed yet again to a small sample of Jac's blood.  Artemis went over to his neatly organized chemicals and plucked on from the rest, taking it back over to the microscope.  He dropped a tiny amount into the blood and then watched the reaction through the magnified lens.  Nothing much happened so he took another drop of blood and tried a different experiment with that.

Root was pacing the room, straying towards Holly's bed more often than would be completely natural.  Butler was sitting calmly on a chair to the side of the room and, although he didn't look to be doing much it was obvious that something reasonably serious was going through his mind.

Since Liam didn't want to interrupt either of the men – although he was still having an extremely difficult time thinking of Root as a man, or even as human, or, more specifically, as anything other than human - and was fully weary of watching over his sister without results or change.  So he moved over to stand by Artemis' shoulder and attempt to either help or engage him in conversation.

He watched the seemingly random processes that Artemis was handling and resolved to not being able to help – however hard it was to admit that to even himself.  So he asked a question that was positively terrifying in it's implications for someone like

"Why do you know how to do all this, Fowl?  This isn't exactly a school science assignment."

"I read Patricia Cornwell."

Liam became even more bewildered by this partially random statement and tried to understand it.  He hadn't even heard of Patricia Cornwell although it was obvious that she was some type of doctor or biological weapons expert.

"Um..?"

"She writes crime fiction."

"Oh."  Liam's voice conveyed his even more complex bewilderment.

"And I also have the equivalent of 3 years of medical school."

"Ah."  At least that made sense – or, at any rate, more sense.  "How on earth did you--?"

"I had to do _something_ with all that wasted time at St Bartlebury's.  I had done the Leaving Certificate by 8 – only the second best result in the country for the year because I hadn't been allowed to study the Personal Development section for science.  I could get into any course, in any university, in the world.  But my Mother didn't consider it appropriate for me to actually go there so while I was forced into that absolutely pointless excuse for an education facility I completed a few degrees through a few UNI's – Harvard, Oxford, Hudson."

"Oh." Liam realized that he wasn't actually saying anything useful or even remotely interesting and tried again.  All he managed was: "Really?"

He almost blushed after that but Artemis hadn't noticed since he was still bent over the microscope, hand moving out blindly on occasion to add another drop of something or other.

"Why do you know about these… _fairies_?"

"I figured it out."

"Right – I could have guessed that.  Well… what happened then?"

And finally Artemis' eyes came up from his work to meet his and Liam really wished they hadn't.  "Does it really matter what I've done in my life?  We have more important things to do that listen to a biography.  Such as work out what this is, why it exists, who it's linked to…  We might not have time to do anything but work on this stupid thing so lets not waste time while we have it."

"Right."  He paused for a moment before, sinking down into a lounge-chair nearby.  "Do you have any ideas about why this might have happened?"

"No."

Root had obviously been listening into the conversation as well and sunk into another chair opposite.  Liam tried his hardest to look down at Root's eyes and not his long, pointed ears but he had an inkling that he was failing marvelously.  

"The most obvious one for why your sister is sick would be your writings – whatever they happen to be.  But as to why Holly was given it as well…  I wouldn't know a thing."

Butler came up behind them after leaving his cousin Marcus in the hall.  "Is there any way that she could be used in a blackmail attempt?  If we think that this is the same people who have infected the girl then there is probably the same goals involved.  Although it might not be linked in motive and just be a personal attack.  I've seen things like this where we have assumed a link, acted as if this was truth and that assumption was wrong.  We have to be careful with what we think we know."

"I know that!  But we need to try and narrow things down."

"Another thing to consider is why are the People involved at all.  Or why the humans are involved if you look at it that way.  Root, do fairies have the capability to make bio-weapons like this?"

"Of course we do, _Fowl_."

"Would you have anyone who would willingly create this though?  I know we do, but fairies aren't human, are they?  You don't act the same ways humans do."

"I… I'd hope not.  But we do have a few people who are ruthless to extremes.  At least Koboi didn't actually want to kill anyone.  But, in answer to your unasked question, a Mud Man would probably be needed to do it.  I can see anyone who had the _ability_ to make this, actually doing so."

"But you didn't see your Cudgeon as anything either, Commander.  There is always the possibility."

"This is getting us nowhere!  We'll know more when we get a message – instructions – from whoever did it.  It shouldn't be all that difficult to tell what species has sent the message."

"Butler's right." Said Root with a certain amount of relief.  "So… what do we do now?"

"I'm going to try another test on this blood sample.  You can do whatever it is that you want to do."

* * * * *

It was noon before Butler could convince Root to go to sleep, so certain he was that something would change if he wasn't actively worrying over his officer.  And it was late afternoon before Artemis felt he had isolated whatever was causing the disease.

It seemed to only move in the blood stream, not passing into the lymphatic system or living within host cells – although he could not be fully sure with his inadequate equipment.  He really needed access to more powerful and professional equipment but since that wasn't going to happen he would just have to make the best he could out from what he had. 

He felt Liam come up behind him since he really didn't have anything else to do.  Liam was almost completely useless when it came to any of this stuff.  Artemis felt him standing behind his shoulder in the same way as he had done numerous times that day and was about to spin to glare at him when he spoke.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?  You _like_ my sister having some stupid biological disease just so you can act the genius and work it all out while we sit around here useless."

Butler got up from his chair but Artemis gave him a glance and he sat back down.

"I do not like the fact that your sister is ill – if only because it means spending time here with you."  Liam opened his mouth to utter another violent and angry retort but Artemis cut him off.  "But I _am_ enjoying this."

"What the hell?!  You're a sick bastard, you idiot!  Why on Earth would you—?"

"I assure you my parents are married."

"Your father's fricking dead, Fowl!  And what gives you the right to enjoy this whole thing?  I can't believe I even let you into my house.  And your bloody fairies!  Why would--?"

Artemis' voice was cool and low; Butler could barely hear his answer.  "My father is not dead.  And you let me into your house - and you're not going to kick me out of your house - because I'm probably the only person who could possibly help you.  And even if you did I would still work on this.  One – because I have a … debt … to Holly Short."  He waved his hand at the bed which the unconscious Captain was occupying.  "Two – because I don't think your sister deserves to die because of you."  Liam tried to cut him off once more but Artemis beat him to it.  "And three – because I like the challenge."

"The _challenge_?!  This… _life and death situation_ is a mere _challenge_ for you?  Something to add to your list of achievements?  I can't believe you.  Actually, I can believe that you are that much of an evil bastard but I really don't _want_ to believe any human is that bad."

"Humans are the only ones, I think, who can be that bad.  And you're one of the only people who could possibly understand what I'm saying … _Liam_."  His tone was mocking with a small amount of veiled hopefulness.  "Why won't you try to?  Don't you do things just because no one else can?  Do things for the challenge?  Make things which are easy harder just because you want to… because you know you can achieve that which other would think impossible?"

"But this is immoral!"

"Child abuse is immoral.  Murder is immoral.  War is immoral.  The rules of War are even worse.  Being passionate about finding out the cause of a disease so you could possibly cure it cannot be immoral."

"I… I don't…"

And with that Liam stormed out of the room to do God-knows-what, although Artemis' guess was to sulk and hopefully, but unlikely, to think about things.

He calmly turned back to his microscope to adjust the focus.

* * * * *

Only when the sky was dark outside and Artemis' eyes were sore from squinting and working through the same things again and again did he leave the converted library.  He didn't think he had concentrated on something for so long and with such intensity since decoding the Gnommish over a year ago.           

He walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and was greeted by the backs of three heads.  Liam, Butler and Marcus were sitting watching the TV with a fierce … almost desperation.  Liam was the first to notice Artemis standing behind them.

"They're going to go to war.  India and Pakistan.  A peace diplomat was just killed in the main street of Islamabad."

"Oh God." 

"There's nothing we can do about it, Artemis.  And things like this happen all the time; it's unimportant in the greater scheme of things."

"But the possibilities for nuclear warfare… Or even chemical and biological is greater than the Cold War.  Biological…  Do you think that this could be a sideline of Pakistan/India conflict?  Taliesin's been writing against possible war so it--"

Artemis' voice froze as a picture of his father appeared on the screen.

"_And finally, the long thought dead Artemis Fowl, a prominent Dublin businessman, has been found.  He is currently undergoing treatment in Helsinki after 2 years missing in places unknown.  His wife, Angeline Fowl, refused to talk to reporters although it appears that Fowl hasn't woken up since being found at the gates of the University 2 weeks ago._"

The woman's face changed to the weatherman indicating the cold front that was coming their way.  Artemis took a deep breath as the other's turned to look at him.

"Well… I wonder how the media found out."

"Probably the usual way, Artemis."

"I did say that the news would come through the TV, didn't I Butler?"

Liam cut Butler's response off.  "Your Dad's alive, Fowl?  And you knew?  And you're still here?"

"Yes, he is.  Yes, of course I did.  And yes … I am."

"But… Don't you want to be with your Dad for when he wakes up?  Your Mum?"

"This is more important."

"It can't be!  Why don't you want to be with them?"

Butler stood up and so did Marcus.

"Liam, I don't think Master Fowl wants to answer your questions and a Fowl never does things which he doesn't want to.  Stop being childish."

"But Marcus--"

"Don't, Liam.  I'll take the first shift, Butler, I'll wake you at 2."

* * * * *

The next morning it wasn't Butler's face that greeted Artemis upon being roughly shaken awake, but the dour, red face of Julius Root.  And if that's not shocking enough to move someone from fast asleep to wide awake in one movement then nothing is.

"Get up, Fowl."

Artemis glanced over at the window and noted the grey light of predawn.

"What is it?  Has something happened to one of the girls?"

Root gave a mirthless grin.  "Holly would have your head if she heard you referring to her as a girl."

"What's happened, Root?"

"We got a package.  I assume that it's from the poisoner.  Butler's checking it for traps, substances, right now.  I thought I should get you."

"Very considerate, I'm sure."  Said Artemis as he swung himself out of the bed and pulled on a dressing gown.  Looking down at Root, he made a gesture that he would follow.  

As soon as they arrived in the Brambling Library where the sick beds were laid out Artemis moved over to the patients to see how their conditions were.  Both were worse.  Quite a bit worse.  Jac's face had a slight yellow tinge and Holly's magic seemed out of control, jumping along the surface of her skin in desperation with an unpredictable irregularity. 

Artemis moved over to the table where Butler had carefully opened the parcel which he had found on the grounds that morning.  A note lay on the table and, without picking it up, Artemis read it.  A message constructed from newspaper clippings was never really done and this message was simply typed on someone's computer and printed in Times New Roman.

_Taliesin,_

Artemis gave a slight grimace at the proof that he was correct.

As you can see your darling little sister isn't going to continue very long without your co-operation.  I'm the only one who has the cure and the only way you're going to get your hands on the cure is if I let you.  I've given one temporary dose for the time being just incase the little girl die and you loss your motivation to do exactly as I request you to. 

_Read careful because if you mess this up I'll be very angry.  And me being angry would not look good for your happy family being happy for very long._

_You are going to write.  And you are going to motivate the USA to become involved with the conflict between India and Pakistan about Kashmir.  How, you ask?  I don't care how but you are going to do it.  And if you don't I won't send you any more of this wonderful solution and you'll be looking at funeral packages._

_I trust you're not so stupid, little genius, that you'll feel compelled to show this to the police.  Nor that they could do any thing. _

Artemis ran a hand though his disorderly morning hair and ended up rubbing fretfully at his neck.

"There's nothing about Holly or the fairies in this."

"I know, Artemis.  And there's only one vial of 'cure' in here."

"The writer has some mistakes in the note.  His first language isn't English.  He might even have used a translator program to write it – but then it should have been even worse."

"I agree."

Artemis ran his eyes over the note once again.  "Why didn't he tell Brambling what side he wants the US to get involved for?  You can't really entice involvement just generally.  Not for something like a possible war.  Or maybe you can…"  Artemis gave a half-shrug.  "At least this charming fellow thinks you can.  Where's the 'cure'?"

"Here, Artemis."  Butler handed over a small vial filled with transparent, thick liquid.  "Shouldn't we wake Liam before we give this to his sister?"

"No.  Imagine the panic he would cause.  We have to get her slightly better at least, she's very sick now, Butler.  If it doesn't work, it doesn't work.  If it makes things worse, it makes things worse.  But we still have to try incase it's the only thing which could make her better.  Brambling would just be a nuisance."

Butler nodded and opened a needle, handing it to Artemis.

Just as Artemis was about to inject the needle and it's contents into Jac's arm, Butler spoke.  "Would this antidote work for Captain Short as well?"

"Probably not.  What I think is the virus is different in make up in both of them.  And Holly will probably be getting something similar.  Only they don't know she's here.  If something turns up Underground I'm sure Foaly will tell us about it."

He injected the substance, keeping the smallest amount aside for analysis and stepped back to see if anything would drastically change.

It didn't.

The phone rang.  It was Foaly.

"Tell that idiot Root that he needs to get to the top Tara station A-SAP!  I've got a package that was left outside his home and it's about Holly."

"Right."  Artemis glanced down at Root,  "Commander, Foaly's sending up Short's antidote at Tara."

"Good."

"Thanks, Fo—"  But the line was dead.

Commander Root was already out of the room and strapping on a pair of mechanical wings.

* * * * *

In the lower shuttle port of Tara there were three people whose lives are important to us.  Foaly the technological Centaur was moving fretfully from foot to foot, waiting for the shuttle with Holly's package on it to leave the station.  Basil Rune was talking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves and prepare him for what he was about to do; a knife glinted in his hands.  Quentin Thyme suppressed what can only be called an evil grin in favour of a smirk of foreboding.  

A video camera light blinked on.  It was recording.


	10. Left Handed

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Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to **Ivycreeper** who, although she doesn't know it, really inspires me to research and plan ideas. I strongly admire what she has done with her own story _New Moon_ and all the research and effort she puts into each new chapter. And when she reviews she is always pointing out things that I've never thought about. Ivy, I hadn't thought about how the disease was actually going to work (I've now thought about it more and have it figured out), or about the mythological sites which you've put in _New Moon_ -a variation of which I need for later in this fic. You always make me feel guilty when I'm slacking off or bullcr*pping my way though a scene and for that I thank you. This story wouldn't be what it is without your researching habits encouraging my own non-existent ones.

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Disclaimer: I don't own RT Miss. Although I'm sure he would make me regret it if I did.

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Author's Note: The bomb description I use in this chapter is what was used in the Bali bombing that occurred last year – although probably not many people remember it, or even heard of it. Or at least, not as many who remember September 11. I can't even remember the date to give to you. Just… it's not my overly evil imagination going wild when I mention cruel things that you don't think would ever happen – my inspiration is humanity. As depressing as that thought might be.

And I do know that I would be readily excepted into the Character Cruelty League along with whoever invented Sylvester and that poor Coyote.

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Chapter Nine

Left Handed

"I like a story with a bad moral … all true stories have a coarse touch or a bad moral, depend upon't. If the story-tellers could ha' got decency and good morals from true stories, who'd have troubled to invent parables."

- Thomas Hardy

Foaly groaned. This was a reasonably good move because it expressed the pain and discomfort that he was feeling. It was also a reasonably bad move because it meant that whoever was in the room with him now knew that he was awake. Footsteps came cautiously to the bedside. Foaly could hear breathing just above his ear. He opened his eyes. 

And closed them again.

The acne-ridden face of Grub Kelp wearing a trembling smile wasn't always a good one - such as when it was only centimeters away from your own.

Foaly took a deep breath - which caused his ribs to ache in a way they didn't usually - and opened his eyes again. But only one of them seemed to be working properly, and the other was painful so he shut it again and squinted around the room instead. Grub had moved off about a meter and in his place was a matriarchal figure of an elf - all curves and the physical form of a imperious, loud voice. Trouble Kelp was off to the side, almost looking as if he was guarding the doorway - although it is debatable if he was guarding it because it needed guarding from something outside, or as a preventative measure to insure that nobody else had the opportunity to spot his 'Mummy'. Because 'Mummy' was the only person that this elf could be.

Foaly tried to sit up - which is a hard thing for a Centaur to do in the best of times, but is damn-near impossible to do when roaring pain erupts down your side at every movement and most of your six limbs don't seem to be working properly. 

Foaly glanced down at his own misused body. And, after a small, disbelieving gasp, fainted.

* * * * *

When he woke it was with a groggy, spent feeling in his head and a terrified memory. His front right leg was gone.

He looked down – his perspective somehow skewed and with a pain in his eyes. His leg was still missing. He didn't know why it was. Or _how_ it was. And… what should he do? Pinching himself seemed like a good idea, but the pain of a pinch wouldn't even be felt through the other pains that were flashing through his body.

His eyes flashed open and focused in on Grub Kelp who was in his apartment for some reason. And then he realised that for some other reason he _wasn't_ in his apartment but in a sterile-looking pastel based room he couldn't recognise. 

"What happened?" His voice was accusatory. "What the _D'Arvit_ happened?!"

"I… Foaly, sir, don't you remember it? There was an explosion. In the shuttle port. You were caught in the blast." Said Grub, looking towards him Mummy for agreement. 

And then he did remember. He remembered clomping around in frustration for conformation from Julius that the package had arrived topside. He remembered the shuttle assistant asking him to calm down, telling him that fretting wouldn't get his girlfriend back any faster than just waiting. He had laughed at her for assuming he was so worked up about a girlfriend he hadn't seen for a while. He remembered seeing someone he half remembered from a case he and his techs had been involved in – but he hadn't remembered what the relation was and wouldn't have been inclined to talk to the gnome even if he had. He remembered a moment of blinding pain when the entire port had moved in slow motion; his mind prolonging the agony with a split-second of foresight as if he was the hero in a Mud Man movie when the fireball slows and the music becomes muffled by time. He remembered the pain as his entire body caught alight and his fur was seared from his skin. He remembered collapsing on the floor, seeing jumping magic all around him as the magic tried to heal their hosts - in the elves, hybrids, pixies and all the other magical People who had the power that he did not. He almost remembered something else. He almost remembered the moment as the pain blanked out as a heavy part of the now unstable ceiling fell on top of him.

Foaly's voice shook. It was so close to non-existent that it could barely be heard. "I know."

He tried again. "I know. I remember it. I… I wish I didn't. But… Why couldn't someone heal me? Every other species can heal themselves, at least partially, so why didn't someone heal me?"

Trouble spoke up, Foaly tried to lift his head to look at him but the effort was incapacitating – he couldn't move an inch without horrible pain shooting from every nerve-ending in his entire body. 

"Whoever made the bomb – that's what it was – is evil. There is no other word for it. He combined Mud Man's C4 - a plastic explosive - with napalm and ball bearings – both Mud Men inventions. The C4 caused the explosion but then the ball bearings ripped everything in their path to shreds and the napalm keep on burning anything it touched. People were getting burnt and they couldn't stop it and they were burning faster than magic could heal them. You weren't the only person who needed magical help. And you aren't the worst injured. By latest counts 47 people have died." His voice softened and lost his usual confidence and flair. "It didn't help that it's only one day away from the first night of the full-moon. The shuttle bay was so crowded."

Foaly's gut twisted at the knowledge of how awful the events really had been. Hearing about all that he has seen and lived through… in such a technical manner, talking about the parts and properties… Foaly shuddered and tried to find something else to talk about. But really, after an event such as that, who can talk about the underground weather?

"Are my eyes injured? I can't really focus properly. And it… it hurts."

"Your left eye should be fine soon enough." Responded Trouble.

Foaly took a deep breath. "And my right?"

"Probably irreversibly damaged by burns. Some transplant devices and prosthetics might give you the impression of vision but _your_ eye … won't work again."

"Be honest with me, Trouble. Tell me how _Al'Shav'lit _I am now."

"You saw your leg didn't you? Or didn't see your leg. It was mutilated from the explosion and then with the ceiling falling on you… The best the medics could do for you was to amputate."

If Foaly's vision hadn't already been blurred it would no doubt be blurring now.

"And your arm--" Foaly opened his left eye and through the pain willed Trouble not to continue. But Trouble was staring up at the pale ceiling as if it was fascinating, an integral part of the story he was telling.

"The nerves in your left shoulder were damaged by the weight of the ceiling. The arm's numb, almost completely paralysed. With extensive magical treatment it might get better over time but… Well…"

Foaly's face was as white as the sheets he lay in.

Grub tried to lighten the atmosphere with optimism. But we all know that never works in a situation where the mood is so heavy it has its own gravitational pull, spiraling all around it into the depths of depression.

"Well… at least it's not your right arm. You can still write and all that."

"I'm left-handed, Grub." Foaly gave a dark-humoured laugh. "All genii are lefties."

He flopped back down onto the mattress, screwing his eyes tight against reality.

Grub shut his mouth and looked over at his mother for guidance. His Mother shook her head and gestured that they should all leave the room.

On the entire walk back to their house on the other side of Haven the Kelps didn't see anyone outside. All the People in the city were too scared to leave the relative safety of their homes. 

Of course, that's what terrorism is supposed to achieve. 

* * * * *

The note held between Liam's fingers was growing damp with sweat and moving slightly as his whole hand shook. A blank word document was open; the font-face changed to his preference 'Garamond' and the size adjusted to 12 point. A working title was written along the top, centered and bold. He had even presaved the document on both a floppy disk and his hard drive.

But he still couldn't write it.

He glanced over at what Artemis was doing on the far side of the Library, checking on both Jac and Holly – who both looked quite a bit better than they had before, although neither had yet woken or moved. And saw Artemis steady the thermometer with his right hand while checking on Holly's pulse with his left.

"You're left handed." Liam stated with some surprise, having never really noticed one way or the other in the year that he had known Artemis Fowl.

"Of course I'm a lefty, Brambling. All genii are lefties."

Liam scowled, "There's no need to say that. Yeah, you're smarter than me, but you don't have to be so insulting about it."

Artemis looked up. "Haven't you heard that little myth, Brambling? I thought it was quite amusing myself when I first heard it."

"People actually think that?"

"An old wives-tale that survives because most people never meet a genius, let alone notice what hand that genius might write with."

"Stupid wives tales." Liam looked back at his computer and shook the mouse to get it off the screen-saver. "How can I make anyone believe that America should get involved? How can I make anyone believe that I _want_ America to be involved – Americans stuff everything up?" 

"But it all ends up working for them, doesn't it? It's only ever 'stuffed up' from non-American points of view. 

"And all you have to do is _make_ people believe you. Just write it as though it's the truth and no one will question it. Little lies don't hurt." Artemis looked up and stared outwards, collecting nostalgic thoughts. "At the Manor there's this little alcove all lit up in the main hall and in it there's a tiny statue of Mary the Virgin. And because of where it is, because of how important it _looks_, people ask about it. And whenever they do my mother says, with a completely straight face, "Oh, it belonged to Cortez." And everyone believes it. Why _would_ anyone believe that? How could my mother have gotten her hands on Cortez's statue and more importantly, how could it be proven that that statue belonged to Cortez? Why would anyone in their right mind believe that it did? Because there is no reason not to."

"What are you talking about, Fowl?"

"Make it a big lie – people get caught up in the little ones and they become all messy."

"Lie?"

"You'll have to lie about the situation to get America involved. It's not that hard. And it's what the media is always doing."

"I'm not in the media."

"Yes you are. You're giving information and opinions to the general public, trying to influence behavior. How can that not be classified as media?

"Go to hell, Fowl. Send me a postcard." Liam said peevishly.

Only Butler saw Artemis' grin at that comment and he simply raised an eyebrow at his charge to show his disapproval.

* * * * *

Various medics had come in to check on Foaly over the past few hours but he had been impatient and irritable with all of them. And really, who could blame him?

The latest one had strapped a small medi-pac over his right eye to try and help the open socket. And another in his right armpit to try to heal the nerves that had been crushed by the ceiling, leaving his arm paralysed.

Currently he was struggling to find the remote control for the TV that the nurse had kindly placed just out of his reach. He finally got it and twisted around, with a pain in his spine, to point it at the old television on a wall bracket. It flickered on and it was only then that Foaly realised that it was on the wrong angle for a Centaur who was bed-ridden. And, if anyone would stop to think about it, a Centaur wasn't at all well designed for long amounts of time lying down.

He flopped back against the pillow in defeat, only half listening to the noises accompanying the picture that he couldn't quite see.

The sound of an explosion. The sound of heavy, bulky items breaking with ease because of the force pushing them. The sound of gasps and screams. The sound of whimpers, so powerful you could almost see the pain on those invisible faces. The sound of a whinny as something large fell down.

Foaly pulled himself up off the bed; almost falling because of his missing leg and the pain that existed everywhere else – even in the leg that no longer existed. He held onto the bed with his good arm, his useless arm slumped against it, as he stared up at the images flickering on the screen.

He remembered it all and now he could see it all again.

When the broadcast was finished Foaly's arm buckled and he fell to the floor. He still hadn't moved twenty minutes later when a medic came to check on him. He just sat there, watching it all on the screen and in his mind. Repeated images of the explosion, the strangely still pictures of fairies looking for loved ones, helping out, crying on unknown shoulders. It all ran over his head, not registering in his brain but in his tear-ducts.

It's times like this that the similarities between the Mud Men and the People can be seen more easily than their differences. 

* * * * *

Butler picked his way across the room to stand in front of Commander Root. Even though it was past noon – midnight for a fairy – the fairy was still awake. He had barely moved at all since collecting Holly's antidote from Tara and reading the message that came with it. Butler was worried. And even if he wasn't worried enough to interfere, he was curious. He had never thought that the Commander would act like this.

"Commander." Butler nodded as he approached.

"Butler."

There was a moment of silence in which Butler decided to make the first move. "Will you be needing any help to carry out your instructions? I would be happy to do anything I could to help."

Root seemed to see the unworded support – even if he didn't need help Butler would be there with him. "Nothing you can do. Not unless you can put in a good word for me to whoever the ruler of the afterlife happens to be. I've done some bad things in my life - in the name of duty and not. I don't think I could cope with it all again. All it does to your soul… You feel dirty about being alive, about being alive when you've caused so much death. I'm sure you know what I mean. You'd have to."

"Of course, Commander."

Root nodded. Butler sank onto the couch beside him, not saying anything at all.

After a minute or two Root held out the tiny piece of paper with the message on it. It was smudged and crumpled from being held in Root's hand for hours.

__

Sir Martin Wollemi. 7:30am to 8:45am. Hall of Starsons, Haven. Tuesday, 31st of December.

Although it was doubtful as to how many people in the room would understand what this meant, Butler knew. He felt a rush of sympathy and respect for the elf. This was a traditional message for a sniper who didn't need to know anything more than who to kill and when to kill him. Butler had gotten quite a few of these over the years although, thankfully, none recently.

"Do you know who it is?"

"I remember his name, but I can't quite remember where from. I think he's a leader in one of the guilds. I don't usually pay much attention to the details of the little feuds between the powers of Haven so I can't remember who belongs to which group." Root sighed. "I haven't gotten one of these for 300 years. Lately I've been more worried about being on the _other_ side of an assassination."

"I know what you mean, Julius. Is there any way for you to get out of this?"

"Not as far as I can see. If I don't kill this Wollemi," Butler recognised the effort to put distance between the victim and the killer by using his last name – he had done it himself many times, "Captain Short will die. How could I live with that on my conscious? I… I can do this. Or, at least, I used to be able to do this. I… I value Holly's live more than I value the life of yet another anonymous politician. I have to do it, don't I?"

Butler nodded again in silent agreement – thinking of all the people he would do the same for. It may be the coward's way out but… giving your life for a stranger is a concept thought up by authors who never leave their dingy apartments and producers blinded by Hollywood.

"You won't have to do it, Julius. Artemis will think up a way to cure this disease. I know he will." Butler smiled slightly. "He always does, even if it's against all the odds. The odds don't seem to apply to Master Artemis most of the time."

"You've got that right, Johann. I still have nightmares about being up against him."

"Don't worry about that. He's sworn off exploiting the fairies and maybe he'll change now that his father is back. Or maybe not. We can always hope though, can't we?"

"Hope is a wonderful thing. I hope and pray to all Seven Lords that your Fowl finds a way to cure Holly. Foaly would never let it go if I did anything out of the norm to protect Captain Short. And there are already all these rumours about me having pictures of her in her training outfit in the bottom draw of my desk."

"Right. _Rumours_..."

Root's grin was forced but at least it was something.

At that moment Artemis almost jumped into the air, swept his samples into a bag and started running out the room. "Butler! I need to get to Dublin Uni."

"Coming, Artemis." Butler stood up and looked back down at Root. "Artemis has something – things will be all right. Get some sleep or else you'll be useless later."

Root nodded. Butler gave the elf's shoulder a slight squeeze then moved out of the room, swiping the car keys off a bench as he passed.

* * * * *

"Master Fowl!" Called the surprised head researcher and professor of the Science Faculty on the Dublin University campus.

Artemis scowled slightly at being interrupted in his quest for some of the heavy duty equipment the Uni's research facilities offered, but he was smiling by the time he had raised his head to meet the eyes of the tall man in an old fashioned suit. 

"Professor O'Donell." Artemis gave a slight nod and Butler did the same.

"I didn't expect to see you here for some time – it being so close to Christmas and your father being alive. Isn't that wonderful news?"

"Absolutely. But I really need to work out some of the kinks of a project I've been working on for a while. I can't really get anything done in the term time because my school doesn't have much in the way of technology."

Professor gave Artemis a wink which looked positively painful. "I completely understand, Artemis. You're welcome any time here. In fact I would love if you could come and give your opinions at an environmental conference we will be hosting in the New Year. The insights of a young person would be invaluable. It should prove to be very interesting and enlightening since John Simmons will be talking. He was on a research base on Antarctica – studying the Antarctic marine life."

Butler moved between Artemis and the professor who was now rambling on about a new method for testing polluted water – his personal hobby being marine biology, which he tried to impart on everyone he came across.

"I'm sorry Professor O'Donell, but we have a very strict time schedule to keep to. I believe Artemis has to prepare for a talk about the effects of factory dumping on marine wildlife. If you'll excuse us…"

"Oh definitely! I didn't mean to keep you from your work. I'll see you later, Artemis. We can exchange notes about the chemical situation affecting the fairy penguins, okay?"

"Of course, Professor. I'll visit you next time I'm on campus."

"Sure, Artemis. I'll look forward to it."

When they were far enough away from the professor Artemis breathed out a small 'thank you' to Butler.

"Lets just get this microscope set up for you, Artemis." 

Ten minutes later, watching the output from the electron microscope, Artemis breathed out. A hand rose to the screen to trace the patterns. The moment froze.

Artemis knew what to do now. Or at least he knew what it was - and that's equal to knowing what to do when it comes to Artemis Fowl the Second. 

* * * * *

Quentin Thyme smiled. It seemed genuine, full of mirth. This doesn't mean that someone has just cracked a good joke or that he is watching a comedy on TV. He's watching TV, but not something which anyone else could possibly consider amusing.

Others were watching it, some had turned their heads away quite early on, some were forcing themselves to watch it, tears running down their cheeks the entire time. Some had excused themselves to go rush to the bathroom to vomit.

In slow motion Quentin's video of the Shuttle port bombing was playing. Over and over again.

Quentin was still smiling, grinning. Jason Palm saw it and had to turn away before his stomach protested yet again.

Up to a certain point in the video Jason could see his friend Basil in the background, slightly to the left. He would never see his friend again. He felt tears stinging his eyes yet again. And the worst thing is that he cared more about the loss of one fairy over all the rest that had died. He felt terrible about not feeling terrible enough.

A sprite seated towards the back felt the same. "Basil died in that you bastard!" He yelled out. Those around him visibly shrunk back from their outspoken colleague.

Quentin turned around to look at the offending fairy. The sprite was shaking with a combination of uncontrollable rage and fear for his own life. He was right to be fearful.

"Lots more shall die. I'm planning on that."

Quentin threw a knife that had appeared in his hand. It landed in the junction between the sprite's wing and his throat.

"Starting with you."

* * * * *

Most people believe that black clothing helps you hide in shadows. It doesn't. Black stands out against shadows. But someone wearing dark green or grey, they blend right in.

If it wasn't midday it's quite possible that this man is knowledgeable and experienced enough that he would be wearing an old grey coat. But since there wasn't any shadows to hide in he hadn't bothered. He was in old jeans and a tight T-shirt with 'Guinness' written across the back.

He blended in as just another human - not at all remarkable. Or he would if he wasn't holding a gun and lying on the roof of the Anthropology building of Dublin University. Aiming at the back door of the Science and Technology block.

The door swung open. Two people came out - a pre-teen boy and a giant of a man. 

Before they had reached the third step the sniper fired.

* * * * *

****

Trisani - ::tries to ignore the 'I LOVE IT's but can't quite, nods like talking to a kid and pats Trisani's head.:: Thanks. And you think that Root's less healthy than Vimes? Have you read _Night Watch_? Vimes has been having pains in his heart and hasn't told anyone. And mentally, Vimes is a lot more Knurd (too sane) which is very, _very _unhealthy. I love both of them!

****

The Seasyngr - Well… I'll think about it. I don't know why anyone would want the clone of Luke Skywalker though. He can't act, he's more of a prop than a character, despite being a genius he doesn't act it… I can't see the appeal. But get back to me after I finish the sequel.

****

Bride_of_lister - Why did you change your name? And I'm glad you liked his reaction, it was very fun to write it.

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Emily-The-Strange1324 - I love reviews. I never ignore them! And I know that Liam has the feel of a Gary-Stu about him sometimes, I'm not offended when people point that out. I see him as a prop rather than a character; I use him to show Artemis' character development. And I'm going over board on the 'being worse than Arty' aspect so that he's looking **more** like a Gary-Stu rather than less like one.

****

Spectra16 - I'm hoping to get published. Actually, I'm planning on it. I've already got my first dedication worked out, however sad that might be. '_To Bella Penna - I'm still blaming you.'_

Kyoko-san - Gary Stu is the equivalent of Mary Sue but different. He usually is irritable, not instantly liked, dark, brooding ect. All those things that makes a instantly likable main male character.

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Ophelia who is insane - As I've already said, I don't have a problem with any of that. Someone else might but I don't.

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Ivycreeper - I'm a cruel b*tch who does evil things to characters because I can and you think this is a good thing? Even if it's not good it can be very, very fun. Although I think I took it to extremes in this chapter, didn't I? All the things I wrote in the dedication are very relevant and again I thank you. You'll find out all about the disease in the next chapter. 

****

Becca - Thank God I managed to update before you could hurt me! And don't worry… Holly _might_ get better. If only so that Artemis can gloat about it.

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Eleida - I tried to put a light moment in but I couldn't manage it. ::sob:: I really tried…

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Butler - Amazingly enough I've been getting slacker when it comes to betaing my work ect. My typing has been getting more accurate.

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5|-|! - I love cliffies! They are so much fun to write!

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Trisani - By my count you're the 97th review. I've had 3 reviews deleted over the span of this story. Sorry for that. And I've already stolen your glass, see? ::waves a glass about::


	11. Life, Death and Misery

**Disclaimer:**** Everything from the Artemis Fowl books belongs to Eoin Colfer, not me. Everything from this story that doesn't appear in the AF books belongs to me. And all these things will continue to belong to me until I sell off Liam Brambling to the highest bidder. ::rubs hands together in Mr Burns fashion:: Exxxxxxxxxxcellent.  Okay, the bidding starts at 2 chapters!  Can I hear anyone for 2 chapters?**

**Author's Note:** Bow down to me! I am the mighty fiend who can turn Artemis into a ballet dancer and Grub Kelp into a wise wittle ol' fairy. ::cough:: Anyhow… On with the story!  (Minus 1116 words – they're the responses to reviews.)

Chapter Ten

Life, Death and Misery

"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

-Oscar Wilde

The stars weren't bright. They weren't shining in a cold and dispassionate sky over the mourners standing around the funeral pier. Not that there was much of a pier to be standing around - only one dead finger laid out on a gold cloth. 

Willow Wattle hated funerals. Her brother, William, wasn't here this time; he wasn't standing beside her offering as much support that could ever be given. He hadn't been able to come – there was an important conference he had to attend. Willow wished she had had an excuse like that to use - because the funeral of someone you hate can be even worse that the funeral of someone you love. 

She was standing there, shivering in the cold and trying to be angry. Trying to be happy that the man who had taken away the boy she loved was now gone. Trying to still hate the man whose finger lay before her, which was all that remained of one of the many victims of the Tara Shuttle Attack. But, as almost anyone knows, hating something you can't see is near impossible – which is why not as many people hate _hate_ as much as they should. You had to pity Basil, and if still couldn't pity someone who had died in such a terrible situation, you could at least pity their family left behind. And, for the first time in months, Willow felt … free. Yes, free was the word. She hadn't really thought about anything in months, a year, and such a simple service as this one was enough to force her to think – even though the thoughts were not happy ones.

She wasn't angry with Basil anymore for loving Cypress. She wasn't angry with Cypress anymore for not loving her. She started to care about the Biochemist guild kicking her out - something she had barely noticed when it had happened 7 months before. As a funeral had broken her careful balance of lies about her life a year ago, so was a funeral balancing things out again. 

Basil Rune's sister Daisy was performing the service, tears streaking down her face as she plucked a sprig of Basil from the cold soil. She poured her magic into it, far more than is necessary for the ritual. She carried the sprig to all the people present, one of the last being Willow since she was only there because someone in the family had thought it necessary to invite her for pleasantry's sake.

In fact, the real reason that Willow was invited was not an irrational, slightly senile, whim of Mrs Rune. It wasn't what anyone would call fate or destiny, not even in horribly bad lighting, but it was … right. Willow had to be there, even though she would rather have been anywhere else. She had to hear things which her mind had been screaming out for ages, because these things would give to the future of the world. Or, to the world, a future.

And if she hadn't been there then the shadowy being in the shrubs wouldn't have come to his own resolution about what he needed to do.

* * * * *

Foaly stared down at the bed. He was trying so hard to see a hair-covered foreleg… but he couldn't. The medics had used anesthesia to knock him out for an hour or so 'to help him get over the shock'. They said that his body needed healing – and he could definitely see that – but that his mind needed it more. Conversations were heard between medics and volunteers as they walked down the corridor outside Foaly's room. They spoke of mutilations, brain damage, paralysis, a young boy who just died from internal bleeding which was too extensive for magic to heal. Ruptured organs, people so heavily mutilated that their bodies had already given up and were leaking the magic which was meant to keep them alive.

But Foaly barely noticed the stories of the others who were in pain, not listening at all when he could hear the sounds of anguished crying of family members, or the soft whimpering of someone in too much pain to scream anymore. He just looked down at his broken, useless arm and amputated leg, closing his one good eye when the strain became too much and viewing it for a while inside his head. And every time he opened his eye after this he was hoping that he had been mistaken, had been dreaming that his body wasn't completely normal with only a small singed patch on his rump from the 2 weeks ago when Koboi had taken control of his Ops Room. But he never was. At one point, while his vision was fuzzy, it had looked as though he had another leg. But then he had blinked, his vision had cleared, and he was once again staring though where his leg should have been at the sheet.

Foaly's head flopped back down onto the pillow as the pain in his neck overrode his desire to see what he wouldn't see ever again.

* * * * *

Butler was carrying a heavy box filled with printouts from the microscope and other images for comparison taken from the Internet and textbooks. Artemis had only a single sheet of paper in his hand. Occasionally he would look down at it, his eyebrows would crease in thought and he'd tap the sheet against his left hand; occupying a world which, although wasn't entirely his own, only he fully understood.

As they approached the plate-glass door that lead out of the Science and Technology building, they could see that outside it had started to rain. Artemis studied the droplets as he approached the glass; observing the gentle fall of each and the way the raindrops were so light they looked like snow in the air and didn't even make a wet mark when they landed on the concrete paving. In the same way that DaVinci would make sketches of the play of light on rosebuds on the same page as a war machine, Artemis observed the raindrops fall while the majority of his brainpower was still working on the disease. With the clinical and scientific part of his brain he made observations about how each individual droplet seemed to be too light to have had enough weight to fall from the atmosphere, about how it was spring rain, rather than the Irish winter rain which usually soaked through clothes, skin and muscle and into the bones. But one part of his mind, admittedly a very small part, just observed how beautiful it was.

Butler pushed the door open and stood back to let Artemis through, who looked dazed as if he couldn't concentrate, although the look had more to do with concentrating too much on everything. Artemis passed by, lifting a hand to feel the texture of the impossibly light rain. Butler let the door swing shut behind him as he moved down the stairs slightly angled so that he could look at the steps over the top of the box.

A shot was fired. Artemis' eyes left the sky in an instant, staring at his own shoulder, seeing the wound before he felt it. Butler bypassed the human stages of shock in a millisecond, his training going straight to his muscles.   He dropped the box, rolled to the ground, covered Artemis' body with his own, while being extremely careful to not disturb the injury, yanked the Sig Saucer from its holster, clicked off the safety, and was aiming up towards where the shot must have come from in a second. He pulled Artemis back inside the building and crouched beside the doorway, tracing the shot while at the same time scanning the rooftops for any figures. There. On top of the two-story building at 4 O'clock. Butler shot a bullet through the glass so that his next shot wouldn't be deflected and took aim at the now running figure before the glass had finished tinkling to the ground. The man fell, but in a moment he was back on his feet, stumbling slightly, but making a steady path across the roof to the fire stairs.

Butler sighed, took another glance along the sight and clicked the safety back on the weapon. He pushed the alarm button beside the door without much thought, before moving to crouch next to his injured charge. Already a curious crowd has gathered, drawn together from whatever they find especially interesting by the far more novel event of gun shot retorts. Most of the people around wouldn't even frequent the cinema. And even though the majority were doctors, none of them had any medical training.

Artemis' face was whiter than it should have been, instead of being the colour of cream, he was closer to the colour of snow – a dead, shocking white in comparison. His eyes were wide, the pupils heavily dilated and, even though he would never admit it later, his lower lip was trembling. He blacked out from a combination of blood loss and shock.

Butler scooped Artemis up in his arms and the muttering crowd silenced, moving apart for the bodyguard. No one offered to help.

"Um… Mr Butler? Is there any—"

Butler didn't glare, or simmer with anger, simply looked at Dr O'Donell until the doctor would have felt more comfortable standing in front of an oncoming bus. "Collect the box of Master Artemis' papers and bring them to the car. The rain seems to be getting heavier and Master Artemis wouldn't want any of them ruined."

The doctor just nodded and scrambled out the door after Butler, picking up the box from the bloodstained sandstone step. He even had the piece of mind to collect the paper Artemis had been holding, dropping it on top of the pile while trying as hard as he could to ignore the bright red splashes over the top sheets. He deposited the box on the front seat, paused as though he wanted to ask something but then thought better of the idea and hurried back inside.

Butler laid Artemis' limp body down on the backseat and climbed into the front. He started the car and drove off down the long drive while the surreal rain transformed into proper Irish weather.

Back in the Science and Technology building the crowd of scientists, security guards and lab technicians crowded around the spilt blood on the tiles.

"Well," Dr O'Donell said in the painful, cheering tone reserved for such occasions, "I do hope he'll be better in time for the Antartica wildlife conference."

* * * * *

As soon as they left the University grounds Artemis made a whimpering groaning sound that conveyed a lot about how he was feeling. He opened bleary eyes and brought one hand up to his shoulder. Blood – his blood – came off on the carefully manicured fingers. He whimpered again in a very un-Fowl-ish manner and fell unconscious again.

Butler pulled into a narrow alleyway and tugged the first aid kit out of the boot. He carefully cut Artemis' bloodstained shirt away from the entry wound and pulled out a roll of bandages. "Sorry I didn't do this sooner, Artemis. I needed to get you away from there as quickly as I could. I'm sure you understand, sir." He murmured to deaf ears, dressing the wound quickly and expertly.

He tucked a rebellious strand of Artemis' hair back behind an ear once he'd finished. He got back into the driver's seat, backing out the laneway. Only once they are finally on the freeway did Butler truly breathe out, looking at the pale face of his charge in the rear-view mirror.

* * * * *

Grub Kelp tiptoed through the corridors of the medical centre, bypassing the hurrying medics and giving what he thought of as consoling nods to grieving families, but in actual fact looked as though he had a sore neck. He was carrying an Amalbus container carefully; it was filled with nettle muffins his mother had made for Foaly. Trouble had tried to stop their mother from making them, but no one could stand up to Mrs Kelp for very long - they usually gave in out of frustration and embarrassment.

Trouble had been called away to the LEP, but they could spare Grub for an hour and so Grub had come alone. He got to the room that Foaly was occupying, shifted nervously and stopped to peer around the door before going in. Another two beds had been moved into the quite small room and the occupants were currently asleep – or unconscious at least. A young female pixie, who looked to be a volunteer, was standing beside Foaly's bed holding a brightly coloured clip board.

"Please sir, I need to take down your details so that we can put it on the database. What would happen if a member of your family was to become worried and we weren't able to give them any information?" She said in an accusatory tone.

"Do you know how many Centuars there are left Underground, missy?"

"Isn't it something like 400? Not all that many really but--"

"It's 96." The pixie's mouth closed. "Do you know how many of those other 95 are related to me?"

"Umm… All of them?"

"Three. Two second cousins and one Great Grand Aunt thrice removed. Do you know how many of these care an inch about me?"

The girl just shook her head. 

"None. No one will be asking for any information about me so don't bother." Foaly put a great deal of effort into turning over so that his back was now towards the girl. He expended even more effort in making sure he didn't whinny at the pain this maneuver caused.

Grub entered the room and coughed slightly to get the girl's attention. "I could fill the details out for Foaly, I probably know most of it from files and stuff. Do you want me to do it for you, sir?"

Foaly shrugged, apparently not at all surprised to know that Grub was back again.

"Thanks, corporal. You're LEP? If you could just fill in these forms thanks…"

Grub scribbled in all the answers he knew, and then handed the papers back to the pixie. "Foaly _what_. I need a family name."

"Sorry, miss, no one at the Plaza calls him anything other than 'Foaly'. Not even Commander Root."

"Wither Kathman. My name's Wither Kathman, Grub."

The pixie sniggered slightly but when she caught sight of the strangely intense look on Grub's face she faltered. "Well, thanks Corporal…" She peered at his uniform label, "Kelp. Hey, are you related to Captain Trouble Kelp?" Grub just shrugged. "He's so incredibly _hot_. All the girls love 'im. Bye, Corporal. Thanks. Say hi to Trouble for me. " She waved and left the room.

Grub stood there for a while, looking at the back of Foaly's head which was all that stuck out from beneath the sterile grey blankets. Foaly shifted awkwardly after a minute or so, feeling the eyes on his neck.

"Thanks, Grub. I… I didn't want to have to do that. I'm in a bad mood for some reason." Foaly said, his voice dripping with irony and personal distain. 

"I brought you some muffins which Mummy baked, Foaly, sir. They're really nice! Well, they usually are. I didn't nick one or anything to try."

"Do you find that important, Grub? It's important that I know that you haven't eaten one of the muffins your mother made?"

"Well, yes. I wouldn't want you thinking that I—"

"But… But… Why does that matter?! Everything is so damn stuffed up! It's all gone to mythological shite and there's nothing which we can do! Doesn't that piss you off?!"

"I know that my Ma make really good nettle muffins, and I bet they're still great, so not everything is turned on its head."

"But-- _D'Arvit_! _Al ishm'I der'til'a shim-el dy'hir'r! How can you not..?"_

"'Big things are important, but the little things are important too'. '_Weh'ma de lat'uy, sihm hee'sun weh'ma'yh dae'. My brother taught me that. Here," Grub held out the container of his mother's famous muffins, "have a muffin. They're really very good, you know." Grub helped himself after Foaly grudgingly took one. _

"And it's not good to swear so much," said Grub, biting into the muffin, "especially in the old tongue. My Mummy says that if you swear you can't join the Ancients and you go to a bad place after you die instead."

* * * * *

Artemis was conscious for most of the trip, although he didn't let out so much as a whimper of pain. And Butler knew just how hard it was to do that.  He knows that Hollywood doesn't do justice to the true pain of being shot since, except if there are some real problems when it comes to the special effects, the actors never feel it for real.

"Butler…"

"No need to talk, Artemis. We're almost back at the Brambling home and I'll get you more properly fixed up then. I'm well trained in field med obviously, and I can get you some painkillers then.  Although, I don't think you'll appreciate having any morphine to knock you out."

"Root will be able to heal me as soon as we get there; elves have enough magic to heal others."

"Oh, that's right. Sorry, Artemis. I wasn't thinking straight. How about you try and rest until we get back there."

There was silence for a minute or two.

"Butler?"

"Shh, Artemis."

Artemis ignored him, "could you turn on the radio? To one of those bad talk-back shows with rednecks phoning in and arguing about things they know nothing about."

Butler obliged, looking at Artemis through the rear-view mirror. "Why, sir? I thought you hated those things."

"I do. But the aggravating nature should be enough to take my mind of the pain." 

"Right."  Butler turned the volume up slightly.  'Kids these days…' could be heard in a scratchy, old voice.  "Don't worry, Artemis, we're almost there."

And a few minutes later Butler drove slowly up the Brambling's uneven drive so that the gravel wouldn't cause Artemis more than the unavoidable pain he was already in. Liam and Marcus were waiting for them at the top of the stairs, Liam rushing down them before the car was even stopped.

"It's all been getting worse, Fowl. Did you figure out how to fix this, because the antidote you gave the elf hasn't held? She only had a slight remission before becoming even worse than before." He pulled open the door; obviously peeved that Artemis hadn't already done so. "What did you get done at Dub—Oh." He stopped and took in the sight of Artemis leaning back on the leather interior, bright red blood seeping through the bandages. "What happened?" Liam's mouth moved up and down a bit before he was pushed gently out of the way by Butler, who scooped down to pick Artemis up, being very careful about not jolting or putting pressure on the injured shoulder.

"Master Artemis was shot."

"I—I can see that. Why? Who? What..."

"If you'll excuse me, I wish to get Artemis back inside the house." 

"Right. Um… Why don't you help him Marcus?"

"Butler doesn't need any help."

"And _I_ don't need any help either! I can walk up a few steps by myself thanks, Butler." Artemis fumbled to get his legs out of the car and pulled himself upright by leaning on Butler. He walked forward, trying to make it look as if the slow pace was deliberate. "Root's still asleep isn't he? Can someone wake him up please?"

"I'll go, Artemis. Marcus, could you just walk beside Artemis until his gets inside while I go and fetch the Commander."

The presence beside Artemis' elbow changed to a slightly less bulky, slightly shorter man. Liam moved ahead to hold the door open, mouth still open as his classmate walked – processed like a conquering emperor, really – up his front stairs with blood soaking through the bandage, dripping along the length of his right arm, hovering at the elbow for a moment, before dropping down to stain the sandstone. Two steps inside the door, with Artemis' vision wobbling and his legs feeling like reasonably painful jelly, Butler and the Commander came in from the hallway.

"Trust," said Root sarcastically, directing Artemis to a pristine decorative couch so that he could see the wound without having someone pick him up so he could be an extra 60 cms taller. "As soon as I get to sleep, you have to go and get yourself shot. You've got one very bad mental complex, Fowl, judging from the lengths you go through to be the center of attention." He climbed up on the couch, edging closer to the wounded right shoulder but being careful not to touch it. 

"At least it's not all that bad a wound, no arteries nicked, the bullet went through the joint between the shoulder and upper arm – a human doctor would have a lot of difficulty with that - but other than that it's almost alright." He reached out a hand, blue sparks jumping along his fingertips. "I don't know why you humans do that. Why you invented bullets.  And why you haven't found a way to stop yourselves from using them yet." The wound was healing quickly, things inside Artemis' joint crackling and moving. Blood was being replicated, made, and the torn blood vessels were mended. "Done. But I hope we don't need much magic soon. I'm almost drained."

"Thank you, Commander. And there's an oak bend about … 15, 20 kilometers from here. I remember looking it up from … last year." 

"Ha! Artemis Fowl. Saying 'thank you'. If I tell that to anyone Underground they'll institutionalise me."

"The way you people stereotype me… I'll have you know that I'm a kind, caring and sensitive young man."

"Yeah. And Kry'rae priestesses like Rock and Roll. Do you know who did this?"

"Well… I don't know. Butler?"

"He looked like a common mercenary – although, I didn't get a close up view. But he's probably a good one, even though the shot went wide." Butler picked up the bullet which had fallen to the couch. "This isn't from a fancy, showy gun. Just a practical one."

"Who hired him do you suppose?"

"Well, I don't suppose it was the People finally getting back at Artemis?"

"Of course not. That's against the Book."

"I didn't think so. But the Mafiya have no qualms whatsoever about getting back at those who trick them – although, there are very few people who manage to do that.  It's rather impersonal for the Mafiya, though.  They like to do things personally, especially if it's retaliation.  The favourite is decapitation, sending the head to family or police, and then dissolving the body using some specialist chemicals."

"Probably them then. They wouldn't want someone like Fowl walking around.  And as to why they would simply shoot him rather than all that other stuff…"  Root slowly cast his eyes all the way up to Butler's face; he only came halfway up the bodyguard's thigh.

"A major enemy per year… How long do you think it'll be before I can get my face plastered all over CNN, BBC and FOX because the US President is out to get me?"

"Artemis, you know I trust you and your judgement but … don't aspire to that. Please. You don't pay me nearly enough to defend you from the world."

"I'll do my best to cut it down to one major power per two years. Then you'll have at least 8, 10, years before the world _really_ wants to kill me." Artemis was smirking slightly.

Liam's mouth opened and shut before he got his powers of speech back. "You… You're serious! The _Mafia_?! The fairies wanting to kill you? Major powers and enemies and… You're a criminal or something?"

"Liam. Don't interfere. The Fowls have always… they… You don't need to know. You don't. You're safer to not know anything." 

"But, Marcus. They're joking about Mafia and stuff? How on _Earth does a thirteen year old get involved with the Mafia? They're only meant to be just starting to watch _The Godfather_ behind their parent's backs."_

"Not the Italian Mafia. The Russians. And it wasn't exactly my idea either. They had my father and were holding him to ransom."

"That… That doesn't happen in the real world. Thirteen year olds involved with organised crime? That's Hollywood material. And _bad Hollywood material."_

"Just because something would make a good – or bad – movie doesn't mean it can't be real."

"But…  Okay, I…  Couldn't it be someone about all this biological stuff?  Someone knows that you're getting close and so they want to get rid of you?  To stop you ruining their plans?"

There was a potent silence as everyone ran the idea through their heads.

"And you said that the truth was too Hollywood-ish.  How is anyone meant to know how far I've gotten?  _I've_ only just figured out how much I know."

* * * * *  
Willow walked home, wishing that it rained Underground, at least occasionally.  The atmosphere could have done with a little rain; rain always seems to put things into perspective.  It was probably raining Up There, at least somewhere.  She wanted to be wherever the rain was.

She entered the small apartment she shared with William, switched on the light, kicked her shoes away and pulled off the jacket that should by all rights be soaking wet.  She poured herself a strong drink – only the spirits of Mud Men were actually forbidden, so various companies of enterprising fairies had created their own – and leaned back into the comfort of her favourite armchair.  She could have gone to Basil's wake – another adaptation from the Mud Men – but had decided against it because she really didn't feel like part of the mourners; she didn't really feel like a mourner at all.

There was a knock at the door, quite soft, as if the knocker would be quite happy if no one on the other side of the door heard it at all.  The knock had scared, apprehensive undertones.

Willow got up, stumbling slightly as she tried to find her feet through the haze of drunkenness, and opened the door, expecting her brother.  It wasn't.  There was a fairy, an elf, with brown hair, a nose slightly too large to be attractive, pale coloured eyes, and missing a finger.  She recognized him from years of unrestrained loathing from afar.  His name was – is – Basil Rune.

"Willow.  I…  I wanted to go to the police, but I thought I should tell you first.  I don't want to hurt you, and well, I couldn't let you find it out through the media.  And I need your help, if you're up for it."

"But… Basil, you're dead."   

**angel-in-disguise** – Of course I can kill Arty if I really want to!  I'm the author.  I can do whatever I want with him…  Hmmm… How do you think he'd look in a tutu?

**Kitty Rainbow** – You haven't written a Rooticums-fic yet.  Pooh.  And I really think Root might just have that photo of Holly as well.  He had to bribe Foaly to get it as a still from a security camera, and he's accidentally ripped it once while trying to hide it too quickly.  And Holly's going to find it one day, make a joke out of it, abuse Root's trust, make Root's life a misery, and then feel really, really bad about it.  ::grin:: I love Root!

**Estel** – I've already killed Arty once or twice (in stories I haven't posted, and in _Betrayer or Betrayed), and Butler hasn't killed me yet.  Although he did send someone out to try and make me insane once.  But he knows the truth… I could kill him off as well!  I could kill off Grub!  Or Root!  Or Holly!  Or Butler… again!_

**Mike Smith** – Yeap, I'm an Aussie.  Why do you ask?  And, although AF doesn't really have any Big Name Fans, I'm delusional enough to think that I'm recognised.

**Ivycreeper** – I'm horrible.  I actually never get around to reading _New Moon_.  I don't read much AF at all really, and I'm sorry.  One day, possibly soon, possibly when I have an assignment that I need to get done in 2 hours, I'll get over to read the chapters that have been posted since I last read it (probably about 5 chapters now…).  Thank you for all those little wonderful things you said, I agree with it all – especially what you've said about characters (I idolise those who can really create the characters beyond their basic concepts) and I can imagine that quote being reasonably accurate but, unfortunately, they didn't have enough time to get over to London.  I actually love knowing things and learning random facts (especially when I can then use them and sound smarter than I am), but it's the literal researching part which I'm bad at.  I find absolutely anything interesting, so to find out any one fact I need a day and a half.  And I've would have gotten many medals for procrastinating over the years – if only I could bother turning up to the race.

**Tie Kerl** - ::scared voice:: Interesting… very, very interesting. ::coughs::  And I, although I disagree with war on principle, I think that it can be justified, it can be worthwhile, and, to coin the cheesiest phrase in the history of the English language, the end justifies the means.  That doesn't mean that everything shouldn't have been handled differently with Iraq, or in most situations, but … war achieves things which peace can't.  War is just a more specilisied (and legal) form of terrorism.  And that didn't make sense… If you want someone to ramble to email me.

**Moonlight** – Umm… Root failed English class and so that's why he said 'live' instead of 'life'.  I'll go back and change that typo.  Thanks for pointing it out.  I've been wanting to shoot Arty for ages as well (doesn't he just look good bleeding all over the floor).  And my Butler's name is Romeo Johann Butler – but he uses Johann as his first name because Romeo is just too embarrassing.

**Eleida** – Ah, at least I managed those moments.  I was trying to work in a scene with adorableidiot!Grub and explaining!Trouble, but it ended up as a tad pointless.  And yes, from a few people's POV's Bush is an idiot.  But Saddam is/was bonkers, in a position of power, with BIG weapons.  Something had to be done.  It would have all been done better if the Americans hadn't tried to hide the (perfectly reasonable) motives of 'he's dangerous, we're scared' behind 'Operation: Iraqi Freedom', and been more like Blair (who you could see was involved because he thought/thinks it's morally right).

**Ophelia who is insane – **The Bali Bombing was on the 12th of October.  Pist… I don't have a clue what I'm talking about.  And I couldn't possibly do that to my Julius!  Root would force himself to endure hidious amounts of personal pain convinced that at least it'll help someone.  Isn't he so adorable…?

**Kat** – Don't worry, no Foaly's are killed in the making of this story.  And come on, you should be grateful that I haven't permanently killed off anyone canon … yet.

**ChocolateEclar** – Of course!  What would I do if I didn't have any injured characters to play with?  (I keep them all disabled so that they can't run away from me.)

**Butler** – Thanks.  And cliffies are goooooooooood.

**Emily-the-Strange1324** – Liam doesn't need any physical injuries.  He's got first picks on the mental angst, with a side order of emotional torment and an unhealthy portion of discovery, revelation and insecurity.

**Kyoko-san** – I love comparing fairies to humans because (although I personally believe that human nature is what creates our 'bad' side, so fairies wouldn't have this) it seems to highlight our own faults because we don't give fairies the same outs as we give ourselves.  And if you like reflections on the unrealistic nature of war and such read _Only You Can Save Mankind by Terry Pratchett – it's set in the first Gulf War, (written then as well), and it has some unnice, but painfully real, realities coming out.  And I don't think there's a logical way I can include Holly since she's unconscious and comatose (so no inner thoughts about breaking free and strangling Rooticums). _

**Becca** – As I just said ::points:: Up There, Holly is comatose.  But you'll find out one way or another soon enough.  Lookit, Arty knows something!

**Trisani** – I –ing love _The Truth_! William's a –ing brilliant character! And what about that –ing vampire? I –ing _love Otto! The –ing unfortunate light fixation, the –ing way he –ing talks. –Ing brilliant really! And I do know I have an –ing problem. After you mentioned _The Truth_ I had to go off and –ing reread it. But you also rementioned __Night Watch, so I had to go and –ing read that one first. And then I had to reread every –ing Vimes book and only then did I get to read __The –ing __Truth. And since I was reading –ing Terry Pratchett, I wasn't writing this –ing story. _Night Watch_ is my –ing favourite though. I love the –ing complexity of the later books, and the –ing time paradoxes… my –ing idea of a –ing paradise. __Jingo is another –ing brilliant one. And __Reaper Man. And _Thief of Time_. And the Johnny Maxwell books. All –ing brilliant! ::shakes off the clinging –ings:: Yes, Centaurs only have four legs but they have another two arms as well - the body of a horse with the torso of a human instead of a horse neck, or at least a humanoid torso anyway. This adds to 6 limbs, all of which I could injure if I was feeling particularly cruel. The question you really have to ask yourself about Foaly is how big is he – the size of a horse or the size of an average fairy?  And I just bought off your bodyguards.  See.  ::waves _your_ glass about.::_


	12. Fortified Magic

**Disclaimer:**  Blah!  I was trying to find yet another interesting way to say this but I can't.  The idea is just too painful.  I don't own them, alright?  I DON'T!  ::sob::  I never said I did!  

**Author's Note:**  Please note that this is no longer in continuity with the books.  You'll see that in this chapter I have Stonehenge as a place of fairy importance, even though in TEC it was said that it was an ancient fairy pizza parlour – which throws the ideas of pizza being invented in the colours of the Italian flag only two centuries ago out the window.  BoaF is now an AU (Alternate Universe).  Not only do I like Butler's name as Romeo (although Domovoi is very good, very useful, too), but by the end of this story, events such as they are written in TEC would not work in my universe, even though they are set later.  For one thing I don't like aged!Butler.  But you'll find out about that later…

**What's Happened:**  At St Bartlebry's Artemis has met a fellow genius, by name of Liam Brambling.  The Irish government launched a competition where they gave an encoded document to everyone in an effort to discover how to decode it.  Liam, being a genius specializing in languages, won the competition because Artemis went off to the Arctic for the events in _The Arctic Incident_.  After this Artemis discovers a code within the given code that speaks of biological weapons, one targeting Holly and the other related to Liam's pen name that he uses to publish articles on the Internet.  Artemis goes to the Brambling's house, where Liam's younger sister, Jac, is affected; unconscious Holly and Commander Root then meet them here.  Artemis is making progress on discovering how to counter the biological weapon and goes to Dublin Uni to use their technology and while here he gets shot by an unknown assailant.  There is a great deal of tension between the countries of Pakistan and India, and they are on the brink of war; both countries have biological and nuclear weapon capabilities.

Underground: There is a group of terrorists, known as the Anti-Atlantis Association (or AAA), who are running rampant in Haven and other parts of the Underground, especially after the Goblin rebellion.  The leader is a sprite named Quentin Thyme, and he has some rather extreme uses of fear.  He has set off a bomb in the Underground station of Tara, videoing it himself to send the tape into the media and so perpetuate the fear further, and Foaly has been severely injured in the attack, losing a leg and the use of his right eye and one arm.  Willow Wattle is a flora biochemist who was/is in love with her partner named Cypress who was killed by Quentin after he developed a biological weapon for the AAA.  Basil is a member of the AAA, one of Quentin's closest advisers, and was Cypress' lover.

****

Chapter Eleven Fortified Magic 

"…Committing the oldest sins in the newest ways." 

- A Knight's Tale

"How about you just tell Liam, Marcus and the Commander what you've found, Artemis?  I'll go and retrieve the box of files from the car for you."

"Right."  Artemis started.  "Well, I went to Dublin Uni so that I could use their electron microscope – it's not as if any of them are using it for a good cause and--"

"They just let a thirteen-year-old kid use one of their most expensive pieces of equipment?"

Artemis looked over at Liam, daring his peer to challenge him.  "Of course.  Haven't you thrown your ideas about society out the window by now?  There's a fairy sitting in front of you.  Someone has made you little sister sick so that you'll have to write what he or she wants you to.  I," Artemis paused and looked around the room, "am not your average genius."

"I examined various blood samples from both of them, some lymphatic cell samples, and both antidotes under the scope and … I think I've found out a bit more about this.  Or I've figured out what it's based upon, at least."

Butler came back in, carrying the box with a spattering of blood down the side.  Artemis saw it and swallowed, a hand moving up to his shoulder where blood was congealing on the expensive shirt.  "Are the printouts ruined, Butler?"

"Most of them are alright.  A few have some splattering.  Only one, the one you were carrying, is really ruined."

"Doesn't matter then.  I've got that one memorised."

Marcus coughed to draw Artemis' attention.  "So do you know how to fix Miss Jac and the fairy, Master Fowl?"

"Well … not exactly.  But I've got an idea or two.  The first thing I have to do is explain what it is – then Brambling might get an idea about it as well.  And I need the Commander's fairy knowledge."  

"Explaining things never works with me, Fowl.  Just so you know.  Foaly tries it sometimes and well… I'm useless in that department."  

"Well, I'll just ask you specific questions then.  But it would be best if you understood it because you might think of something which I won't." 

Artemis breathed in and looked down at the box of papers.  "The first thing about this disease is that this isn't just one thing - it's got two components that I can see.  The first is a simple, slightly modified influenza virus.  And the other is a biological agent which works like HIV – Human Immunodeficiency Virus – in that it suppresses and destroys elements of the immune system.  And the fact that it works on Holly proves that fairies do have an immune system other than their magic, Commander.  And, if you think about it, if the People _did _rely on their magic for immunity when a fairy is deprived of their magic they would become almost instantly very sick with bacteria and small diseases.  Any fairy would be ill in hours after using the last of their magic – Holly would have been incredibly sick last year for example, after so many hours without magic."

"Interesting, Fowl.  But the point?"

Artemis turned and glared at Liam.  "It's coming, Brambling.  Patience is a virtue, remember?  

"Holly and Jac's immune systems are being broken down by the biological agent and then their symptoms are caused by the flu, which was administered to them at the same time.  The antidote contained some antigens to the flu virus – antigens are what our bodies produce to fight invading diseases, and what our bodies have trouble producing if the immune system is weakened.  It's working like AIDS.  The immune system can't work properly and so what would usually be an inconsequential disease – especially in a fairy – is now life-threatening."

"And how the hell is this good news, Fowl?  My sister's got AIDS.  And there's nothing we can do to get rid of it, is there?  No one's made any real progress with AIDS over twenty years."

"It's not AIDS, Brambling.  It just acts like HIV on caffeine – the same processes, just sped up so it doesn't take the possible 12 years before it becomes AIDS.  It's actually very unstable – the makers couldn't get it quite right – and so they had to find a way to stick together this unstable retrovirus so that it could hold together."  Artemis gestured with his hands, forming a tight globe with his fingers.  "And so if you take out the glue the destructive agent in their bodies will disintegrate.  And that's the really _interesting_ part.  They used magic to hold the disease together.  Which is why magic didn't work against it.  And all we need to do is remove the magic and…"  He let his hands fall apart and float around freely in the air for a moment before landing them in his lap.

"Do you understand?"

* * * * *

"Do I look like I'm dead, Willow?"

"Well… Not technically.  Most people who are meant to be in a gazillion places all over Haven don't knock on doors.  Not my door at least."  She was in shock, her voice holding the capacity to become hysterical in a moment.

There was silence.  Then:

"Are you going to explain?"

"Are you going to ask me in?"

Basil grinned at Willow and moved past her into the apartment.  "I'll explain it, I promise.  But I can't be seen on the street.  Many People have joined Quentin lately and most know what I look like.  I can't let him know that I'm still alive.  He'd kill me if he found out."

Basil looked around the sparsely furnished room, taking in the mess strewn across the floor and the overflowing bin crowded with take-out containers.

"I shouldn't have come here.  You don't want me here.  You don't need me to add any more stress onto the lot you've already got. I just…  I'm sorry."  He turned around and opened the door, which Willow had just closed behind him.

"No. I … I'm alright.  I swear I am.  And I want to know what's so important that you had to come back from the dead to tell it."  She tried a grin, failed miserably and picked up her drink from the side table draining it quickly.

"No, you're not alright.  I'll just—"

"I'm fine!  Talk."  She poured herself another shot of the liquor and vaguely wobbled the bottle in Basil's direction.  He took it, capped it, and put it down on the table.

"I'd really prefer if you were sober, Willow.  How about I bunk here for the night – I know that your brother won't be home – and I'll tell you in the morning once you've slept this off."

"Where did you learn that?  To chop off your finger so that people would think the rest of you was gone?  Did you cause the explosion too?  So that you could pretend to be dead?"

"I didn't do that.  I swear I didn't do that.  I just … I was part of the group who did, and I didn't want to be part of them anymore so I had to escape.  And I got the idea to chop of my finger," he rubbed the stump carefully, "from research I had to do for … this group.  Mud Men literature.  I had to find out what they knew of magic and was given the assignment of reading the 'Harry Potter' books; in them a man called Wormtail cut off his finger so that people would think him dead.  Quentin thought the books probably had real magic attached to them since they were so well known.  They're just kids books really, and all the ideas of magic in them are completely wrong – they couldn't even get the crazy Centaurs right."

"Mud Kid books, fingers, not-dead Basils.  Wha…?  Why?  D'Arvit!  What does this have to do with me?"  Willow wobbled slightly as she drained the second glass of something, which had been guaranteed to knock out a Troll with 60 mLs.

"Not you.  Your brother.  William.  Quentin wants him for something.  I'm not quite sure what but … I think it's to do with what Cypress was doing before he died."

Willow was instantly sober.  "Not that?"  She grasped Basil by his shirt, shaking him.  "Tell me Cy wasn't making that _thing_ which he had all those papers about."

Basil nodded.  "I … I never meant for him to have to do it.  But Quentin found out that I was with him and since he was a biochemist, Quentin decided that we should get him to work for the group.  That's why Cy really died.  Quentin killed him when he decided he had everything he needed."

"Cypress died because of you.  Because of _you_!"  Tears were streaming down her face and she was punching Basil's chest again and again.  Then she froze.  "Your Quentin wants William to do the same thing?"  

Basil nodded, "I think… well, perhaps.  Probably."  

"And then he's going to kill him as well.  Please, please, please…" 

She ran into her brother's room - which Basil noted was surprising neat compared to the state of the living room, and started to pull everything apart, searching for the papers. "I wanted to destroy the papers but William didn't think we should.  I think he took them, I don't know.  I can't remember much from the time when Cypress died.  I… I've never wanted to before but now…"  Willow broke down, head in hands with tears streaming down her face.      

"Shush, shush."  Basil reached out awkwardly and stroked her arm.  "I'm sure we'll find it anyway.  And …  Well, it doesn't really matter now.  It's already too late."

* * * * *

Root was the first to move, looking up at Butler in an effort to find another who _didn't_ understand it.  Butler gave a slight nod, indicating that even though he'd spent the last 13 years around Artemis, he didn't understand more than the basics.  Liam had a thoughtful look on his face.

"So the actual manufactured agent is a virus which attacks the immune system?  And the symptoms aren't from that, but from a flu?"

Artemis nodded.  "From the flu and any other small time pathogens they might have picked up or already had in their systems."

"And all we need to do is defeat the magic that's holding it all together because then the fake HIV will disintegrate and we'll only have the flu to deal with?"

Artemis nodded - his face was almost, but not quite, not truly noticeable, flushed from the adrenaline pumping through his blood at the idea of a problem so close to being solved.  He turned towards Root, "and this is why I need you, Commander.  Or perhaps I should talk to Foaly.  We need to find some way to pull the magic away from the 'virus'.  We need some way to counter the magic in their bodies, or to draw it out from the virus.  Do you have any ideas?"

Root's shoulder's slumped, and he rubbed a hand across his forehead.  "If I had known anything about it, I don't anymore.  I… I don't think there's ever been anything that can counter magic.  If there were we'd have used it by now.  There's been a few times in history that the People have wanted a way to rid themselves of the restrictions out ancestors put upon us, and we could do this if we could counter our own magic.  But it's been five hundred and thirty years since I was last at school, I might have forgotten something crucial."  He ran a hand through his hair, then the hand moved to his breast pocket and he pulled out his cigar case.  "If there is anything though, Foaly'll know about it.  Would my helmet fit you?"

"Perhaps, but I've got my mobile anyway."  Artemis pulled his mobile from a pocket and flipped it open.  It took a moment till he found the record of Foaly's call and managed to trace the number it had originated from, even though it was a private number (or a number that didn't quite exist above earth).  He waited as it rung.

Root plucked a cigar from the case, snapped it shut.  He popped the foul smelling thing into his mouth and was about to light it—

"There are patients in here, Commander.  No smoking."  Said Butler.

"Fine, fine." Root opened the case again, but then decided against returning the cigar; he twirled it between his teeth.  He upturned the case on his lap, looking up at Artemis who was still waiting for an answer.  Half a dozen cigars and a minuscule Book lay in his hands.

He flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for - the one on origins.

Artemis closed the phone with a snap in frustration after it rang out.

"Does Foaly usually leave his booth unattended?  I wouldn't have thought he would."

Artemis pressed redial.

* * * * *

When Foaly woke up he momentarily forgot where he was, and what he now was.  He moved his hooves up and down slightly, as he always did after sleeping, and stretched out his arms to either side, rolling them around twice in the backwards direction then once forward.  He realised three things when he attempted that this day.  Firstly, he noticed the searing pain that shot through his left arm.  Then, while trying to stretch his arms to the sides he was unable to move either.  And finally he realised that he was lying down and that the reason he couldn't move one of his arms was because it was pressed against starched sheets.

He mused on the pain in his left arm for a while.  For a limb that was supposedly numb it was awfully painful.  Although, his right front leg hurt in an abnormal way as well, since it wasn't there anymore.  But it still hurt.  

He vaguely remembered medics and medical warlocks sprouting information, he remembered a Mud Man medical book being shoved in front of his nose as they tried to explain something or other to him with diagrams - he had laughed until his ribs complained, the irony was too great.  Fairies have become Mud Men.  If they had access to the Oceans they'd have probably taken up whaling already.  All the bad things, some of the good, all examined.  The only way the People were superior to the Mud Men now was technologically – and only because of Foaly's own efforts.  Morally, at least some of the fairies had been corrupted, and some of the Mud Men had equalled them.  Medically cane toads were probably better off.  The fairy system of government was a cross between England under Bloody Mary and Communist Soviet Union at it's lowest.

The Mud Men were dominant, not only in numbers anymore.  It was their time for the Earth, just like thousands of years before when the Ancients had left, judging their time to be over, the time of their children had been beginning.  And now…  Since the Mud Men now owned the planet, there was nothing the fairies could do but watch as they changed coastlines and flew faster than sound.

A medic knocked quietly and then moved into the room – quickly, as though scared that if he didn't keep moving someone would point out that he was doing something wrong.  His entire nature was scared, worried, wary.  He had a name badge on.  It read: Keith.

"Hi, Keith.  I'd get up; I'd even shake your hand - if I were actually able to.  I'm sure you'll forgive me for my lack of etiquette, Keith, eh?"

"That's what I'm here for—" he looked down at his grey-coloured clipboard, "—Wither, isn't it?  I'm a physiotherapist.  I'll get you back on your feet."

"Hooves.  And it's Foaly."

Keith's eye's almost crossed as he worked that out. "Right, right, hooves.  You're a centaur, right."

"It's the ears that give me away, isn't it?"

Keith seemed to have less sense of humour than a custard tart did – at least custard tarts fly through the air and splatter across some poor clown's face.

"Here, I've got a sling that we're going to use to help hold you up on your fe-- hooves.  And then I can start working with the other things.  Okay, Wither?"

"I can stand by myself."  

"How about we use the sling anyway, Wither?  You've lost a leg, you haven't gotten used to the strain yet."

"I can stand by myself, _Keith_!"  

Foaly pulled himself up, sliding slowly off the bed until his three hooves touched the ground; it was like watching a child dropping down from a step slightly too high for them to do it comfortably - awkward, feeble, but ferociously determined.  Then he was standing; the 'numb' arm was throbbing and Foaly pulled it closer to his side, using his right arm to adjust the sling.  He wobbled slightly, but managed to correct his balance before he fell down.  He tried to think of it as simply standing with one leg raised, so he didn't look down.  Instead he stared down Keith.

"Great work, Wither."

"_Foaly_.  My name is _Foaly_."

"Right, right." 

"Why do you need to do this?  I've only been bed-ridden for less than 36 hours.  It's not like my muscles have atrophy."

"We can't take any chances with you, Wither.  Centaurs can have very temperamental bodies – it's the horse side of you."

"Centaurs do not suffer the same problems as horses when it comes to lying down – although it is extremely difficult.  The reason why horses have to be shoot if they're sick or lame for too long is that the limbs don't get enough blood without movement.  We Centaurs are much smaller, with huge hearts," Foaly gave a slight, patronising grin at this irony, "and so don't have the same problem."

"There's no need to get angry with me, Wither, I'm just doing what the medics are telling me to do.  And I'm sure they know best."

Foaly slumped, crushing his eyes closed in a vain attempt to remove the small person from in front of him.  "My name is Foaly."

* * * * *

Commander Root scanned through the pages again, ignoring the slight headache that always accompanies reading in spirals.  He twirled the half-chewed cigar around in his fingers as he strained to remember long-forgotten lessons from his grandmother - an elf with bright eyes and her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun.  He rubbed a hand across his forehead; closing his eyes in an effort to picture the lessons.

"The Ancients lived in their own world, aloof from all the others.  Do you know what aloof means? It means high above, distant.  Not really - they didn't live in the sky, although they all had wings like Sprites do.  They were better than we are, like we are better than the Mud Men.  So, like we live down here, in our own world, so they lived in a world apart from the surface of the Earth – which at that time belonged to us."

"But isn't the surface better than down here?  If we're better than the Mud Men, then why are we down here, and they're up there?" asked young Julius, with all the politically incorrect accuracy of a child.

"We're not talking about us, or the Mud Men, we're talking about the Ancients, Julius.  The Ancients were special.  They—"

"Aren't we special as well?"

"Yes, we are.  But the Ancients were different.  They didn't live on this world at all; they only visited here when they wanted to."

"That would be great!"

"It was.  It meant that when their magic was growing weak here they could leave and go some place else where it wasn't so weak.  The Ancients had magic that was much stronger than our own – they could do anything with magic, while we can only do things like healing or special spells."

"I made a door slam with magic once.  It was fantastic!"

"But you can only do magic like that when you're extremely angry, or scared.  The Ancients could do magic all the time, always like that.  They could use magic to wash their clothes, to cook their food, to tidy up their toys."

"Why can't we?"

"We've got a different type of magic, Julius.  Our magic belongs to the Earth and us at the same time.  We borrow magic from the planet, and we have to give it back.  It's a continuous cycle.  The Ancients were born with their magic, and it was all their own.  And other people could steal their magic from them - suck it out of them like a vampire sucks blood.  So some people ended up with more magic than others, and they fought each other over this magic, everyone wanting more and more of the Ancient magic.  

"And that's what started the War.  Have you heard about the War?"  Julius nodded, even more intrigued by a story that contained a war. "It started when the groups within the Ancients, those that followed each of the Seven Lords, got angry with each other.  People weren't doing what they were supposed to be doing; some of them were stealing from the other groups, not letting others trade, pushing them around.  And then the Lords got angry with each other because they weren't stopping their Peoples from doing the bad things.  Then all the groups, all the People, started massing armies together, and they started to build weapons and spells.  They realised that they were much more likely to win if they had more magic than the other groups.  So they stole magic off each other, and stored the magic away in their deep, protective forts.  Their magic was different from ours.  It could be passed from person to person, anyone could use it, it was even all the one colour."

"Just a boring blue then?"

"No, the magic of the Ancients is all black.  Well, it's not really black, it's really another colour entirely which we can't see with our eyes.  But, to you, it is black.  A bright shimmering black, like what black would be if black was white.

"I'm getting off topic, dear.  Don't you want to hear about the War?"  Young Julius nodded, squiggling around into a more comfortable position.  "So each of the clans – the People who followed each of the Seven Lords – were preparing for a huge war, because they knew that it was going to be huge.  They each created bases from which they were going to defend themselves.  Lord Elav'shæ - the Ancient who created the elves, our ancestors – led his war front from a circle of huge stones, protected from all sides by magical spells.  They made stores of food and water and magic there, preparing for a siege.  They—"

"I know how we might be able to break the magic, Artemis."

Artemis looked up, or rather, looked up, then readjusted his thinking and his gaze so he could meet Root's eyes.  "Yes?"

"The Ancients, - you'd know of them from the Book - the people who created us.  Nothing we can make, nothing you can make, can counter magic; magic is the most powerful substance on Earth.  But the magic of the Ancients was stronger than ours.  It's so strong that just being close is enough to do strange things.  It might be able to do something.  It's been known to affect fairy magic before, although—No, that doesn't matter.  It might work, Artemis."

Artemis nodded.  "Is there any way for us to get some?  Is it extinct?  A rarity?  Didn't the Ancients leave nothing behind?"

"There are places in the world where there are remnants of their magic left behind.  Places built by them as fortresses or safe houses.  They are the monolithic structures - stone circles and huge monuments.  Some were made by men, some by us… but some, the first of them, were made by the Ancients.  Unfortunately, I don't know of any in Éire, at least not ones where we could find any magic – the Irish ground absorbs magic, both types of magic, so it can't be found in raw form here.  The only one I know of as a definite is in England.  A place called Elv'shæ fa'I – or I think it's been named Stonehenge by the Mud Men.  Stonehenge was an ancient fort of My Lord and there were stores of Ancient magic kept there."

"We could take the Lear over to Heathrow, although the customs is shocking.  By the time we got through it would probably be early morning.  Anything would take a while, though."  Artemis ran a hand through his hair, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

"You should stay here, Artemis.  We need someone to look after Captain Short and Jacaranda."

"I'll go with Butler," said Root, "he'll know people at the airport, right?"  Butler nodded.  "Or we could land at another airport?  D'Arvit!  This will take too long.  They're too sick.  I wish I knew of the other forts.  Can you try and get onto Foaly again, Fowl?"

Artemis nodded, not objecting to the Commander ordering him, nor even of Butler disagreeing with him.  Their judgement was quite reasonable.

He flipped open his mobile once more, hoping that he'd be able to get onto Foaly this time.

Butler and the Commander left through the front door, driving towards Dublin.

Captain Vein picked up the line on the 7th ring.

After hearing the news Artemis felt that he should tell someone, but he didn't want to burden the Commander and Butler yet, just before they had to find some rogue ancient magic.

He almost considered telling unconscious Holly, but then his full mental functions kicked in and he definitely decided against that. 

He turned and shouted at Liam to check on Holly and Jac.

* * * * *

Butler landed the Learjet – the controls had been modified by Artemis so that for short trips only one pilot was needed, even though the cock-pit was designed with the latest technology for two pilots.  With a few nods and a smile they were through customs; as a matter of protocol Root had been carrying a fake passport that named him as an Australian citizen. 

They hired a dark-coloured car at the airport and drove towards Stonehenge.  They didn't talk.

As they were approaching Stonehenge Root felt the need to disturb the silence.  "This used to be a pizza parlour, actually.  Stonehenge, I mean."

Butler raised an eyebrow.  "I thought it was a place of cultural, perhaps religious, importance."

"It was.  But then it became a pizza parlour.  It's only important to the Elves – perhaps some of the more conscientious Sprites – but not any of the other fairy races.  They discovered that the magic left there could be used for cooking pizzas.  They weren't very good pizzas though."

Butler didn't reply to that.  What was he to say?

They arrived at the closed tourist entrance before the silence needed to be filled.  A wire fence surrounded the artefact from about 50 meters in all directions.  Butler pulled a pair of minature wire-cutters with a diamond edge from an inner pocket of his jacket.  Root touched his hand lightly to stop him.

"I don't need to get inside.  This is close enough.  I… I can get in from here."

"Don't you need to get to a store of magic somewhere in the structure?"

The Commander shook his head 'no'.  "The circle was only for show.  The fort was inside the hill – Foaly's been screening it from your archaeological scans for years now.  I can get in from here.  If my Grandmother was correct.  Which she was.  She was a child at the time the Ancients left – her mother was created at the time of the War, when this fort was built."

Root closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose.  He ran a hand though his thinning hair, feeling inadequate for entering the place of the Ancients.

"What do you have to do?"

"I… She said that all I had to do was speak the words – but they're not really words, and not even really proper, logical sound.  And then, after that, I'd know."

He took once last breath.  And then he opened his mouth.  Butler couldn't hear anything at all, as if the Commander was speaking in a higher frequency than humans could hear.  But at the same time a soothing noise - guttural, strong, yet gentle - was moving like substance though his mind.  It was disarming, frightening.  Butler felt his breathing quicken and the adrenaline rise in his body.  He felt as if it was all wrong, incredibly wrong. Something was out of order, out of place, out of space and time perhaps.  He tightened a thick hand around his Sig Saucer, unconsciously.

And then there was mist.  And Butler couldn't tell if it had come, or if they had gone to it.  But it was everywhere, everywhere.  It was entering his nostrils and tingling through his pores.  He halted his breathing, like he had been trained to do in a gas-attack situation.

Root had his eyes closed, and didn't seem to have realised the existence of the mist.  He kept 'singing', although the noise in Butler's mind had silenced. 

Then the mist was so thick that Butler couldn't see where Root was anymore, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, or even what colour the mist was in itself.

The Sig Saucer came out of his jacket and he made to flick the safety catch off, then realised that it had been off for however-long already.  He groped forward with one hand, the gun clasped tightly in the other.  He touched weathered flesh - it was cool to the touch, abnormally so.

The Commander's eyes opened.  They were filled with rapture, respect.  He looked young, carefree, alive.

"Commander!"  Butler shouted, not knowing why he was shouting in such a quiet place, at least at first.  But then all the sound did was echo a little and disperse into the mist.  He tried again.  "Commander!"

It seemed as though the eyes opened yet again, something cleared from over them, and this time the Commander Root that Butler was used to, the one that he knew, was there.  

"The magic!  Where's the magic?"

Root waved his hands around, gesturing around them, not even trying to speak over the soundless din.  He cupped his hands and swept them through the fog, the young Julius taking over again for a moment and pouring the mist – the magic – out again over his own head.  Root shuddered at the sensation.  He was moving slower, with more Root showing in his eyes than Julius, as he made a second swipe at the magic.  He caught it in his hands, cupping them tight, possessively.

He smiled, a huge, radiant smile.

Then he collapsed.  

~~ * * * * * ~~

**Reviews:**

**Janey the homocidal maniac **– Artemis got shot… Isn't it fun?  I've really got to get him into a torture chamber soon.

**Becca8 **– even a 'Great chapter' is a good review to get.  I'm eternally paranoid about the quality or lack thereof of my BoaF chapters.

**Trisani **– And you have a reviewing style that really makes me like you.  Do you work at that, Trisani?  Find my weakness… find who I aspire to and compare me to him at every opportunity?  ::loffs all over you::  Although I've read in a interview with the great and almighty Tperry that he's never going to have main characters meet up, because it would just be too difficult to work.  Susan used to be my favourite character (I read Soul Music as my first Discworld at age 11), but now I appreciate Teh Vimes more.  

The Kry'rae priestesses was a truly random reference, I know.  I've got the entirety of BoaF and it's sequel planned out.  And once someone reads the finished products of both the Kry'rae will make sense.  Hopefully.  I've got a lot of ideas for the future of this story in my head, and so I'm sprouting random references every time I put fingers to keys. 

::comes back as a ghost and pokes you::  That really wasn't a very nice thing to do.  Vimes!  Root!  Come and do something with Trisani!

**Simply Myself **– I can't tell you who really wanted Arty killed, if it wasn't the Mafiya after all, them having killed off all the associates who possibly took it…  And Grub isn't all that bad!  ::huggles Grub::  He won't tell anyone about Foaly's name.  And IWANNABEEVILMOMMY!!  WHY CAN'T I BE EVIL!!?  (Note that I am Australian and say 'Mummy').  And I probably do need a beta (at all).  I generally just go through the chapters myself, and I'm pretty though, although I don't change the actual scenes/situations at all.

**Midnight Blossom** - ::cringe::  Is 3 months quick enough?  Sorry…

**Ivycreeper – **Ah, Ivycreeper… Such a joy to get to your review.  You always have something interesting to say, or at least an interesting way to say it.  On the Gaelic, it is make-believe.  I have almost no grasp on other languages (or interest is probably the main problem) and so it's all from my jibberishing letters until it looks cool.  I really liked you pointing out the factor about horses, and I used that in this chapter.  Be proud.  ::loffs you for picking me up on such things::

I know what you mean about the Cypress/Basil/Willow/William/everyone factor.  I get the strong impression I'm writing for the Bold and the Beautiful when tackling their sections.  They don't have the depth that I try to bring into the canon characters and there lies the fault about my own writing which I absolutely hate.  I suck at developing original characters, and I really don't enjoy it much.  

And my group of net friends recently took it upon themselves to torture Liam for being incurably annoying.  It involved red-hot irons, ripped fingernails and eyelashes, and eye gouging if I remember correctly.  I think the main problem with Liam is that after I had set this story in motion I realised how I could do it without Liam, although in the original idea Liam was the point (for Arty to learn how to relate).  So I've got a grudge against him.  And I swear I'll get around to reading your story sometime soon…  :hits self::

**Melbell **– I just realised that you are Melanie from fowl_artemis.  O.o  I'm writing a B/A for you right now…

**Thea the Elf - **I think that the evidence/logic is towards Foaly being fairy-sized.  And I can't tell you whether or not I'm killing off Foaly because friends of mine have been trying to work out who I'm likely to kill, and I can't give them any clues.

**Eleidab – **Firstly, I'm glad that I've converted you to the worship of Grub.  He needs worshipping!  And secondly, sorry for never-ever responding to your out of date political email.  I'm horrible, but I'm at Horrible People Anonymous and I'm doing the 12 step program to become nice.  And for a political comment… The flags flew at half-mast for Bob Hope's death, while during the Iraq War it never did.  Isn't that interesting?  (Although Hope did know all the US presidents since Rosevelt.)

**Lady Game **– they got the name 'Foaly' from Wither because he was the runt of the class.  He was teased a lot as a child. 

**Moonlight2 **– I was going to have Arty's suffering long and drawn out after being shot but then I realised that he'd be going back to an elf with magic and I had to change that.  

**Ophelia **– Yeap, Foaly's got post-traumatic stress disorder, so much so that he hasn't had one concerned thought for Holly over that entire time.  And once he realises this it'll be even worse.

**Belia **- ::laugh:: my friends were devising all the methods of Liam torture that they wanted to do to him only last week – there was barrels of hot oil, gouged eyes and red-hot pokers, among other things.  But I disagree and think that Foaly is also a wonderful person to torture on occasion.  He screams so prettily.

**Lady Dragon of Spirit's Fire **– I know that Butler's name is Domovoi, and I've used that name a few times since TEC came out.  But since this is now an AU story anyway I probably won't change it if I rewrite the first few chapters anyway.  In the sequel I can't have Butler aged or Arty memory-less so…


	13. Black Holes

**Disclaimer:** The characters from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer, and for anyone who doesn't like writing disclaimers, go write something original. Please, people, be logical. I find disclaimers quite comforting personally.  
**Author's Note:** The next chapter of this should probably be up in approximately 3 days. And the next, 6 days. And it should all be completed a few days before the end of November, all 90 000 words or so. You see, I was going to do the NaNoWriMo competition, where you have to write a complete, 50 000 word novel in the month of November. But, me being my disorganized self, I hadn't finished planning any decent novel by yesterday so I decided to finish this story instead, since that's got a lot more purpose than a shitty fantasy novel with horrid characters. Then I can get started on Brevis, the sequel to this, which is going to be almost completely Liam-less and much more fun. For me writing that is, definitely not for the characters.  


**Chapter Twelve**  
Black Holes 

_"The [string theory] seems to be able to give rise to many different universes, of which ours seems to be only one."_  
- From Scientific American November, 2003   


The room was a large one, immense in all senses, stretching out in useless proportions. But that's the way it is in the houses of the aristocrats (Above or Underground) – all uselessness and space. Trouble mused that all the space was probably so that regular people would find it hard to find the lords and ladies, to pin down what they aren't doing that they should be. Trouble crinkled his nose at the air which had been filtered yet again, so that the germs that existed 'out There' couldn't come 'in Here'. The ceiling was huge above his head, probably at least 5 meters high - Sprites could have flying tournaments in here. The colonnades were decked with gold leaf, highlighting the intricate carvings and swirls. He thought it looked tacky. He preferred his Mother's trailer that they'd lived in when he was young. 

"And so you are completely unaware as to where Commander Root may be, Captain Kelp?" Asked Chairman Cahartez, the Chairman's conical hat of office looking as ridiculous as it always did. Cahartez seemed to disapprove of Trouble's presence in his house as much as Trouble despised being there. 

"As I've said before, Chairman, I did not speak to the Commander before he left, and I do not know who – if anyone – did. He could be on the moon for all we'd know." Useless information. Useless information that he had told them before over the phone, over a videolink even, but they had called him in for a meeting to be sure. 

"Are you aware, Captain Kelp, that informing a fellow member of the Force as to personal whereabouts when leaving the Plaza on anything other than an official assignment while on shift is part of Police Protocol." That was Arbles, who was particularly stringent concerning regulations due to his brother's unfortunate demise in an illegal core-diving accident. He was the second Elf on the Council, when according to tradition his place was meant to be taken by a Centuar, as the Seven Lords and Seven races were supposed to be represented here. The Goblin position was filled by a Sprite, but that was to be expected. And the Goblins pretty much knew it was a good idea – or they would, if only any of them could read up on ancient traditions and find out that they were supposed to have a member of their race represented on the Council body. 

"Yes, I'm well aware of this. Unfortunately, it seemed to have slipped Commander Root's mind. He's a very busy man, and under a lot of stress as the singular Commander of the Underground's police forces. Have the Council reached any decisions regarding this, including the introduction of more than the three regional Field Commanders?" Trouble couldn't help himself with the jibe. The Council had been promising reform for decades now, but if they agreed to change anything they would end up with less personal power, in fact, the power would be far more balanced. And why would they want that? They would keep with the promises for another few centuries at least, and then they'd reword them so it wasn't suspicious. 

"That matter is still in debate, Captain. There are more important things to concern ourselves with right now." That was Cahartez again, of course. "Who would be able to contact the Commander? Who would be the most likely Person to have information about the Commander's whereabouts?" 

"That would be Foaly the Centaur, head of LEP Technical Divisions, Sirs and Madam." Said Trouble, looking towards Wing Commander Vinyàya, supposedly the most sensible of the members. She was the Kry'rae representative of the Council, and even though they were not known for their sensibility, she was an exception highly praised. They were known for their compassionate nature, although the small sections of this race that lived in Haven were very secluded. The Kry'rae were a small, secluded group of fairies, who still lived very close to the surface, all in the Himalayas. They were scattered in village fairy-forts across India, Nepal, Bhutan and parts of China. A few of their race had once lived on the Japanese Islands, but they had all moved long ago. They were earthy, and not just the usual, stereotyped elfish level of being nature-bound; they would go dancing nude in the snow whenever they could, feeling the air's freedom as it skimmed across their bare limbs. Apparently Vinyàya had been one of their High Priestesses before being asked to join the Council. 

"Please inform him – it is a him, right? - that we would like him on the case of the Commander's disappearing act at once. We can't have a missing Commander when the entirety of Haven is in an uproar over the AAA situation." Lord Joseph Peat, the Dwarf of the Council. Vinyàya said nothing. 

This time Trouble's response was almost incredulous, but he hid his anger at this entire situation, at this Council. The news of Foaly's injuries weren't exactly hidden knowledge, especially within the ranks of the LEP, which _technically_ the Council was part of. "Foaly was injured in the E1 Attack. He's in medical care. A stable condition, but unable to complete his job." 

"Well, that's just the icing on the cake, isn't it? How can we be sure that Root's not been taken captive by AAA operatives? How can we know where Underground he is?" Lope, the pixie representative, rather tall for his race with an overlarge Roman nose. 

"I'll try my very best to find out, Councilors. Foaly's underlings are well equip - they'll be able to find Root if anyone can. Am I excused?" 

"Yes. Understand us, Kelp, we want progress on this AAA issue. As Commander-in-Absence it's your responsibility. We don't want the media giving us information before you do." 

"As you said, Councilors. Thank you for your time." 

Trouble bowed his way out of the room, leaving behind the idiotic Council, who were supposedly the best and brightest of the fairies. In Trouble's mind they truly shone; their bald heads were all polished up until they reflected the fluorescent lights at every angle. They hated him because he wasn't from their high hills of Haven, he wasn't one of the aristocrats, only shoved into the position of Second-In-Command after the disastrous incident with Cudgeon, which had thoroughly embarrassed the Council. He knew that Root had been of that crowd, the type who could trace his family back 9 generations, knowing the full name and many idiosyncrasies of his Great-Great-Great-Grandfather. 

They didn't like Root either, though, but that was probably a clash of personalities more than anything else. They also didn't like that Root knew what he was doing, since it put them on edge. 

Trouble did know something about where Root might be, but he wasn't going to tell those idiots because it would be completely detrimental to anything worthwhile that was happening both Underground and Above. 

He strapped on his wings and flew over the streets, higher than the regulation height. He touched down outside the makeshift Police Plaza, where the bustle and movement of people was truly amazing in its severity. 

"Kelp! Kelp!" Trouble turned around, brow creasing in question as Captain Vein – who he'd thought would be in the press-room controlling the statements – came running up from behind him. Vein pulled Trouble into small empty room - some type of storage facility - to give the message. "You were right. It was Fowl who gave the information about whatever got Root so agro, whatever it was about Holly. Fowl just rang Foaly and I picked it up. He's been trying to contact Foaly for some information. The Commander and Holly are with him, Above ground somewhere. Fowl said that he'll probably be able to heal Holly completely within a few hours. Root's at _Elv'shæ fa'I_, and they're going to use Ancient magic to try and heal Holly. Fowl said that it's probably the only way. But he wanted to get Foaly's opinion on it all." 

Trouble breathed out, half-stunned. "Ancient Magic? Surely Root isn't that stupid?" 

"Fowl said for me to tell Foaly that the disease is effectively… made of magic or something. So only stronger magic can beat it. It's something like that anyway. So this is all that can be done. Holly's gone critical as well." 

"Oh, D'Arvit. Just… _D'Arvit!_ I think I need to go tell this to Foaly. Damn." Trouble rubbed his temples with thumb and middle finger. "Can you tell Foaly? No, I need you here. I'll send Grub, he'll feel special doing it." Trouble sighed. "I hate command." 

"Don't we all, Trouble? Don't we all? Well, if the Ancient magic works, Root'll be back down here in no-time and we can return to our blessed lack of responsibility as mere Captains." Vein tried to smile in an encouraging manner. 

"But what if…" 

"Don't think negatively, Trouble. The whole situation, Under and Above, is enough depression for me, thanks. Be positive." But Vein didn't even pretend to be smiling anymore. Trouble didn't either. Too many things could go wrong. And too many probably would. 

* * * * *

Foaly had tried to fight the morphine-like drugs that the nurse had administered to him, but, as always, they beat him and he was forced into horribly, blissful sleep. If he was feeling more himself he would have imagined Root making a joke about anyone wanting to drug him just so he'd shut up. But he didn't. He wasn't. 

When he woke he fumbled around with the tail-end of sleep until his body felt awake enough to start sending demands and complaints to his brain. Perhaps the drugs had been a good idea, since it was all a bit more peaceful when pains weren't occupying all of his attention. 

He heard something close by, and opened his eye in order to direct his displeasure towards the nurse. Again, as if once was not more than enough for an entire life-time, Grub Kelp was standing over him, his acne-ridden face at a proximity too close for comfort. 

Foaly sighed, but only slightly. "Brought another batch of muffins, have you, Grub?" 

"Foaly! I've been waiting for you to wake up. Are you feeling a bit better? I got a message from Trouble that I had to pass on to you, he couldn't come himself because there's too much going on at PP – well, not really PP, but you know what I mean." Foaly groaned, and not all of it was from the physical pain as he tried to move so he could view Grub better. 

"What is it?" 

"Well," Grub's voice dropped to a whisper, "_Artemis Fowl_ called you, Foaly, sir. He's been trying to get onto you. He said that he'll probably be able to heal Captain Short within a few hours, and then Captain Short and the Commander can get back down here. And Trub's really happy about that, because the Council are ordering him about and stuff, and he says they're idiots so he doesn't want to listen to them and..." 

_Holly_… And Foaly felt worse than he had in the… - how long had it been? Hours… days…? How long since E1 had been exploded? - He'd been so damn self-centered, so absorbed in his own pain, that he had completely forgotten about Artemis's message about someone attacking Holly with a biological weapon. He'd forgotten that the person who he would hesitantly call his best friend, if only because of a lack of anyone else to fill the position, was in a coma, possibly dying. While he lay here whinnying about a few injuries that didn't kill him, and weren't going to anytime soon. 

That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. 

Foaly pushed his guilt to the side in order to see if he could do anything, even from his derogatory position in his hospital bed. "Did you get anything more in the message, Grub? Was there anything else? Does Fowl need any help – information, anything?" 

"I… I think he wanted to talk to you about it all. Apparently they're trying to heal Holly using Ancient Magic, and… yeah. I think that's it." Grub smiled hopefully. "She's going to be alright, and that's really good. I think my brother likes her," Grub made the exaggerated finger movements meant to be quotation marks in the air beside his head, "_'that way'_." 

"Good, good. I think I'd feel better if I could talk to Fowl myself. _D'Arvit_. I need my equipment to be able to do anything. This is hopeless." 

"Um… Foaly? I hope you don't mind but I brought one of the laptops from your Ops Booth. I thought you might want it. I… I hope I didn't ruin anything or something." Grub pulled a slim silver computer from a bag he'd slung around his neck." 

Foaly, if the idea didn't total repulse him, would have kissed Grub. But, thankfully, he didn't. "Thank you, Grub. You've been really helpful." 

Grub beamed. "Happy to help. Do you need anything else, because I probably should be getting back to the Plaza – well, not the Plaza, but—" 

"I know what you mean, Grub. I don't need anything else, but perhaps you could put the laptop on that table for me and bring it over here." Grub did as he was told. "Thanks again. Say thank you to your brother for me." 

"Sure thing, Foaly. You're looking a lot better, you know." 

And he felt better as well, even though he knew he should feel terrible about forgetting Holly. Well, he'd gotten over his depressing self-centered aspect a few weeks ago in order to save Fowl's butt, maybe he'd be able to do it again. He had a purpose now. 

He opened the laptop with his right hand, and tried some awkward one-handed typing. It was horribly inefficient, but it was better than nothing. 

He returned Artemis's call. 

* * * * *

Artemis was slightly groggy as he reached for his mobile. It was getting early; he needed his sleep it appeared. Or some caffeine, but he didn't want to stoop to the level of anything stronger than a nice Earl Grey. "Yes, Butler. Have you got it?" 

"It's Foaly. You won't believe how hard it was to get a working connection from this damn hospital." 

"Foaly! Are you…? Well, obviously you're well enough to be talking so…" 

"Oh, according to Root I could talk underwater. According to Holly as well." A slight pause on the other end of the line. "How's Holly?" 

"She's getting worse, Foaly. The antidote – which was some antibodies from humans – didn't work. Maybe the person who developed it didn't really know about your People. So it's both a good thing in terms of the Underground's security, and a horribly bad thing in terms of Holly's health. Hopefully Root's plan will work. The disease is attacking Holly's immune system, making her susceptible to a number of small pathogens ect. The disease is held together by magic, they couldn't get it to form naturally. Most of our biological weapons are natural in that the can occur in the environment. This can't. It's closer to chemical really. Well, except it's not." Artemis pulled himself from the couch, where he had just convinced himself to close his eyes for a moment in order to be better focused when he opened them again. 

"And the solution is Ancient magic, right? That's the message Grub passed onto me. Artemis, it might work. But, then again, it might not work. We don't know enough about the Ancient magic and it… It might make it all worse. It's dangerous. Very dangerous. The People stay as far away from it as they can." Foaly wasn't bothered by sleep, and he'd just waved away another nurse more successfully than he had the last. 

"The Commander didn't say anything." The both knew what they weren't saying, and they both knew that the Commander wouldn't reveal anything that he deemed the listener didn't need to know with any degree of urgency. He took too much on himself, because he didn't want anyone else to have to deal with it as well. Artemis knew the type, and thought of Butler. "What can you tell me about it? I need to know." 

"It's… It's stronger than anything we fairies can cope with. It overruns our own magic – which is why it might work to disband the disease. But… it controls us. It can override our normal functions, and we can't exist on that type of plane for long. It's… it's like a drug for us. It's a high, and it does things. It can make us physically younger – which isn't quite the good thing you'd think it would be. It's a disease, caused by _El'veis draíocht_—" 

"_Draíocht_? The magic?" Artemis interupted. 

"Trust you to be fluent in Irish when the majority of your people despise learning the language. Yes. The magic causes a disease which forces a fairy to… go backwards, loose age. And, although it can stop, a fairy can get a remission and they stop growing younger… most of the time it doesn't. They revert backwards, moving through their life in reverse until they get to the age of about 20 – only a few years old by your standards. And then… the magic escapes. And they are left with nothing. Their high is gone, and they are immune to our magic now. And they die." Foaly let out a worked-up breath. "It even works on Centaurs, and we don't have much magic to speak of in the beginning. But we have enough." There was silence for a moment on the line, almost long enough to be worried, if Artemis wasn't able to hear the Centaur's breaths. 

"Can you see why we fear it?" 

Artemis nodded, imagining the process in his billion-pixel mind. "Yes, I can see why. But we'll have to expose Holly to the magic in order to attempt a healing. And… well, she'll die soon – within the day, probably – if we can't do this or it doesn't work as you and the Commander seem to think it might. When does the magic become more dangerous? Is there a point, an amount, where it's relatively harmless?" 

"I don't know, Fowl." Foaly sighed, pulling up information from various networks. "I just don't know. We don't have the information on this type of thing because it's never been done." 

"I will test the effects on a few samples. It won't be pot-luck, don't worry." 

"I'm not worried, only obsessively anxious." 

"That's the spirit, Foaly. I send you some drugs for the anxiety." 

Foaly growled. "No more of those damn needles. You'd think we'd have gone past the need for needles long ago, but, apparently, we haven't." 

"Root doesn't like needles as well." Artemis only smiled. 

"If you need anything else, ring me. I'll be… doing nothing." 

"I will." 

Artemis snapped the phone shut. He vaguely wondered what the cost of a call from the Underground to Above was, and, for that matter, how it would show up on his phone statement. 

He realized that he really needed to get some sleep if he wasn't going to be completely useless. 

* * * * *

Butler swore. 

Root's crumpled form was convulsing, but his hands were clasped closed tightly, tight enough so that his knuckles were stained white with effort. His face was changing; at some moments it was young, line-less, a distant creature who had been named Julius. And then it was old, the false image of a scraggly grey beard appearing on his chin, the skin of his neck becoming slack, his hairline receding until he had a bald dome sticking out of a few strands of grey that appeared to be struggling to hide it. Occasionally, he appeared as Butler expected him to appear, but that was only a moment among many. 

Butler didn't stand still, watching the fairy in convulsions. He scooped the tiny body up in is arms and tried to find his way out of the mist, if mist it was. If there was such a thing as direction any more… 

He just keep moving, not caring for creating expressive, yet wrong, turns of phrase to describe the area around him, because anything he said at some later date wouldn't be accurate. It was too inhuman to be described using a human language. It wasn't truly of the fairy world either. 

He moved through the fog, trying to ignore the possible meanings of Root's convulsions and changing appearance, because Butler knew that he wouldn't like any of the conclusions he made. They would also all be wrong, most likely, and detrimental to the current mission. Which had rapidly changed from being one of defeating a disease, to being one of saving the Commander from whatever it was that was happening. 

And then, finally, after however long, because time and distance were truly one and the same right now, melding and turning and confusing, Butler reached a barrier. It wasn't holding him back, it was only holding the magic confined. He moved through it and the air was clear. Root breathed out, the first time he could do this properly since all the not-quite-air that he'd been breathing before had been passing through decades and millennia before being released. He was himself, the self of Year of Our Lord 2002 even. The stars were still shining above, and the imposing shape of Stonehenge was sitting on the hill behind him. They were on the opposite side to where they had started, from where they had entered the fort. They were also inside the fence. 

This wasn't really a problem, because Butler simply took the wire-cutters from his inside pocket once again, deactivated any electrical devices in the vicinity with a short-circuiting device that Artemis had 'appropriated' from fairy technologies, and cut through the wire. Once outside, he lay the Commander down on the ground. His face was back to normal: It was unchanged – or perhaps there was another line or two angling out from his closed dark eyes. It was staying still in time once more at least, and that had been the most obvious problem. Root's hands were still clasped tightly together, around the Ancient magic that had existed in that place for at least a few thousand years; Butler didn't know how long. 

He wondered if metal would be able to contain it, because he could see the whitening of the Commander's knuckles and he already knew that it wasn't the most average of substances from the display within Stonehenge. He almost smiled as he thought of Lex Luthor tricking Superman by putting the kryptonite in a lead safe; he'd had quite a passion for comics when he was a child. He pulled a small waterproof box of an unusual alloy from an inside pocket, removed the survival kit contents to other pockets and knelt beside the elf. He wondered for a moment how this could be done in the easiest and most simple way, judging that the best would be if Root was conscious but this state seemed to be eluding him for the moment. It was probably more important that the magic was taken out of his hands and some possibly be lost rather than wait any longer. 

He flipped open the case with a thumb, then cupped his own, overly large hands over the Commander's clenched fists. He eased the hands open, even though the pressure caused Root to turn his head to the side, the knuckles to lock. The magic hovered there, a tight, compact ball of magic. It shimmered, and he felt as though it should appear white, but it didn't seem to have a colour at all, it was closer to… a black hole, it was energy, gravity, matter, all squished into a space too small. A ball of… energy, Butler realized, pure energy; like sunlight concentrate, just add water. A wisp – but wisp implied a lack of substance, when this was as far from the truth as was possible - edged towards Butler's ring finger, as though curious, as though somehow... _sentient_. 

Butler scooped the ball of black hole into the case and snapped it shut, thinking that Artemis would find it incredibly interesting even if it couldn't cure the Brambling girl and Captain Short. He also … felt … that if the magic felt the urge to escape its prison nothing would be able to stop it. 

He checked the Commander's heartbeat for 15 seconds before picking the elf up gently and moving towards the rented car. Hopefully the magic would be able to help, they'd wonder about it later. 

* * * * *

There was a knock on the Brambling's front door, and Marcus (it was more logical that the Butler family were zombies, or the manservants from Transylvania who always seemed to be named Igor, rather than human, since they never seemed in desperate need for rest) opened it to see his cousin and the Commander outside, the elf looking slightly dazed, as if just woken from a deep sleep, but very determined. It had been almost 6 hours since they had left the house, and Artemis had finally succumbed to the temptation that caffeinated coffee had presented, the clock reading 4:21 am. Liam was dozing on a couch, not intentionally, having just thought to rest his eyes for a moment. 

When all three entered the Library/workshop Artemis moved towards them at once. "Did you get it, Butler?" he asked, not really caring for formalities. 

"We did. But there was--" 

Butler looked down at the Commander, barely a twitch of the eyes really, not noticeable to anyone who had not been in his presence for the entirety of their life, and stopped himself. 

"Nothing important, I'm sure." Butler pulled the case from his pocket once more, handing it over to Artemis. "Here it is. It's… as safe as it's likely to be to open it. It holds itself together somehow." 

"Thank you, Butler, Commander. Hopefully it'll work." 

But the Commander had moved towards the bed Holly lay in, sweat upon her forehead, her skin coloured in sickly grey tones, her breathing shallow, but each breath too far apart. "Holly's got worse." 

"Yes, but I think we should wait for a while still before administering this." Artemis tapped the case with a manicured fingernail. "I don't want to be so severely sleep deprived and working with this. Also, I managed to get onto Foaly an hour or so ago. He's…" 

The Commander turned back from his Captain, looking up at Artemis. Artemis continued. "There was a terrorist attack in the lower station of E1. By a group, the AAA?" Root sucked a breath in through his nose. 

"D'Arvit." He rubbed a hand across his hair, then paused, pulling at the strands in frustration. "_D'Arvit!_" He punched a fist into the matress of Holly's human-sized bed, where she was dwarfed. "I have to get back down there, the whole of Haven will be in a panic state. We'll have to heal Holly now, we can't wait for sleep. I'll give you some magic, it'll be able to take away some of your fatigue." 

"That's not it, Commander," Artemis continued. "Foaly was injured in the attack. He's in hospital. The attack came just after he'd delivered the message and antidote up here. He's not critical; I spoke to him myself. They had to amputate one of his legs and the nerves in his left arm were crushed. But he's all right." 

Root closed his eyes, slowly sitting down on the side of Holly's bed. "I think I need a human swearword. I need something truly crude, vulgar." 

"Fuck?" 

"Yes. Fuck. Fuck, fuckity, fuck." 

"Foaly told me about the _El'veis draíocht_. What it does, or at least can do." 

Root looked up at him once again. "Fuck... Well, you'll know to be careful." 

Artemis didn't bother to say anything about the Commander going to fetch the magic in the first; there wasn't really any point. "Can you give me some magic?" 

Root caught Artemis's wrist, concentrated, and let a few cobalt blue sparks move from his fingertips to the underside of the wrist. "That's pretty much all my magic gone now." 

"I'll have to complete some tests to see how much of the magic we'll need to heal Holly and the girl. Go to the oak bend while I do that. It's probably 17 km South West, perhaps a little more. I promise to not administer the magic until you get back. How fast can you travel on those wings?" 

"178.7 kilometres per hour." Artemis raised an eyebrow. "I hold the airspeed record. Holly's been trying to beat it for years now." Root looked down at his Captain once more. "I hope this works. I don't want some hot-shot flyboy beating my record instead of her." 

"You can get back here in approximately 12 minutes, 25 seconds, given a full minute to find the site and the acorn. I'll hold you to that, Commander." 

"What deity saw fit to give you a mind like yours if that was all you were going to do with it?" But the Commander was already strapping on his pair of mechanical wings, pulling his helmet on to his head, experiencing a jolt as he realized that Foaly wasn't going to be on the other side of the intercom. 


	14. 169point3 kilometres per hour

**Disclaimer:** Fanfiction, it's a wonderful state of existence. You can blame the character's Mary Sueish names on someone else, and also travel to another country and pretend to stalk the author in charge of said Mary Sue name, and I swear I saw Eoin Colfer when I traveled down to Wexford for the day. AF belongs to him, although if I'd had more courage I might have asked if I could take a loan for a while, but the interest rates over here are shocking.  
**Author's Note:** I shall blame all typos, spelling errors and 'lose' as 'loose' on two things, so if you see something, point it out. If you just say 'it needed a beta', then trust me, I already know this. Reason one: I'm writing a chapter every 3 days, hopefully. I don't have time, really, to do as much personal criticism as I usually (pretend) to do. Reason two: my usual beta, the wonderful, dearling, fantastic Mrs Ophelia Yeti-Insane (who said you couldn't have faux marriages with platonic female friends you've never met, who are thousands of kilometers away, on MSN on a Saturday morning?) is also doing NaNoWriMo and so trying to write just as much as I am. Perhaps she'll be able to point out my typos in December.   
I also think I should probably mention that over the course of this story I have pointedly ignored many Canonical aspects that didn't fit well with the story I was trying to create, such as a point about fairy evolution Holly mused upon in AF. This was pretty purposeful ignoring, taking a lot of effort, and, they really are rather insignificant things anyway, in the long(er) run. 

**

Chapter Thirteen  


** 169.3 km/hr

_"The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes in an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is."_  
- C. S. Lewis   


Root remembered, as the air rushed past his helmeted head at a speed that he wasn't about to admit to be almost frightening, the Tech nerd on the other side of the helmet intercom being rather snide, that he had been eighty years younger and not _entirely_ sober when he had set that record. He had been thrust more completely into the position of Commander since; he'd eaten a few too many good meals and not exercised enough. But he hadn't had nearly as much fun in a long while. 

He'd forgotten the thrill of the speed, the beauty of the rolling hills cloaked in darkness, the chill in the air that froze the tips of his ears even though his thick, well-insulated, fire, radiation and troll-proof helmet. Well, not quite forgotten, but he just hadn't let himself remember very often. The air and the thrill and the adrenaline had been squashed into a little-used corner of his mind where the memories of freedom would not have space to occupy his thoughts, thoughts that were supposed to be focused on reports, the Council, and widow's pensions. 

But now, now he remembered the freedom as if it were only yesterday. As if he was as able now as he was 580 years ago, when he had races with Briar that lasted for hours, before they'd crumpled in a heap of sedated, not-quite exhaustion. They had run into old wives' yards, terrorizing pet cats by moving too quickly for the cat to defend its territory against the intrusion. He remembered sucking dirty icicles of frost that formed on window-ledges when there were coal shortages, for even though the Dwarves are the best miners that ever existed, sometimes they ran into problems. There had been strikes and poverty and starvation, but Julius had always had a nice warm bath and a full meal to return to at his house that was literally on a hill high above the rest of Haven. 

He hadn't really known what was going on in the streets he roamed without his parent's permission. He hadn't been expecting the change in dynamics when some people had started to talk, have more organized strikes, committee against the continuation of the Frond Dynasty, because what had the King ever done for them? 

He hadn't known why people were spitting at him in the streets he loved so much. Or why Briar had started to spit back, throwing stones and rotten fruit. The riots, the uprisings, the sacking of all the houses in his street, and the way the butler had dressed him in the boot-boy's clothes and hidden him while they moved down dark alleys to a place of safety, where the butler's family was hiding as well, for they had been labeled sympathists by their neighbours. He remembered the feel of the streets, the scared and the hopeless and the violence that came with a few people believing with every aspect of their soul that they were Right and, since they were, the Universe was their ally. He remembered encountering meetings, pretending to be slow and poor and ignorant. 

He remembered when … things returned. They reverted to the state they had always been in, almost anyway. The riots and strikes stopped, because they were no longer practical. People, the everyday people, they stopped being interested in politics, because it took too much energy, and they had to worry about food and their families instead. The King was never returned to his throne, but 580 years later they no longer remembered how he had left: Corporal Frond wasn't looked down upon because of her name, she was revered once more. The Book, the Book had changed. Rules changed to include 'respect of your leaders' and 'governing Council, holding the Wisdom of all Seven Lords'; and the rules of the Book are better than Laws, as they enact their own punishment without the need for the State to spend any money. 

That was the last time terrorism had been used Underground, even though then it hadn't yet gained that name. 

Now the chill of the wind wasn't speaking of freedom and youth, it was mocking him in his age, his receding hairline, and the fact that he could remember these things at all. He wasn't old, he was only 613, and elves were expected to live for almost 2000 years, but he _felt_ old. 

It was only a few more days until Christmas, and he was in Ireland. It was cold, and fairies don't like the cold. 

He'd slowed his speed to a fraction of what it was before, even though he really should've been getting back to the Brambling's house ASAP. The speed was almost making him feel sick, and it had never done that before. 'You're as old as you feel you are' said a voice in his mind, sounding scarily like his grandfather. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? Root _felt_ old. 

He tried to forget the memories once more, or at least push them back into that place they had existed in for the last 580 years; existed like sardines squished in a space too small, sealed in a tin case, sardines that were still alive and sometimes came out for a bite, or danced around in order to be noticed. That's what memories are. 

He ignored the world, focusing instead on the blipping red dot that had appeared, hovering, over the visor of his helmet, pointing out where the oak bend was. It was actually quite hard to see the flashing marker, and he would have made a comment about the impracticality of it being so close to an officer's eyes, but then decided better of it since it would only get a remark about shortsightedness arriving when youth departed. 

The site was only a few hundred metres away when he dropped into a steep dive, as he had always enjoyed. But, it seemed, he'd forgotten just how off-putting the feeling that you had left your stomach behind a few seconds ago really was. 

He landed, stumbling slightly on the uneven terrain, actually quite scared he'd fall into the slow-flowing river twisting around the tall oak. He tried to remember when he'd last completed the Ritual, but wasn't able to come up with a timeframe, since he never seemed to be in a position to use any more than a dribble of magic for shielding, or a slight amount for the unorthodox use of warming his toes. 

He reached a hand out and laid it upon the rough bark. He could feel the tree, as if he could count its breaths, read its dreams. It was an amazing feeling, something he'd forgotten for years. He let his fingers trace down the side of the tree until he reached the bottom. He plucked an acorn from where it rested on the half-rotten leaf-litter still remaining from late autumn. It felt comforting in his hand, it always had. 

He took to the sky once again, not nearly as fast as he had been moving before, looking for the right place to return the acorn to the ground. He had always been considerate as to where he planted his acorns, not like Holly who planted hers in cellars and the Arctic, and he saw the perfect place in a triangle of bare earth between the back of a shed and two joining fences; cows would not be able to get at the sapling there, though humans would always be able to get everywhere. 

He landed, knelt down on the damp, slightly frosty earth and smoothed a calm hand over the soil. "I return thou, my friend, to the earth," Root whispered, his words barely more that mouthed, stolen away by a slight breeze as soon as they left his lips, "in return for the renewal of the gift that is my right by my Lord Elav'shæ." 

And the magic flowed in an instant, up his arm, dancing like young fairies out late on exotic drugs, partying over the back of his hand. It lit up the area around him, a circle of ere blue glow creating an image that a human observer would probably have to put down to aliens. If they were American at least, and if they were anyone else, they would probably put it down to Americans. The magic was a wonderful feeling, something it seemed he'd forgotten in the twenty minutes since he'd spent his last on refreshing Artemis. Root didn't remember when last he'd felt so alive, so strong. It had definitely been a long time since he'd been 'running hot', and even longer since he'd experienced the addictive power trip that was the Ritual. 

The sparks slowed, but he could feel them pushing at each cell of his body, a welcome invading force into every aspect of his soul. It felt, quite frankly, absolutely amazing. 

He breathed in the air of the field, which held a residual stink of cows and spent petroleum, the scent of soil recently broached as winter crops were uprooted. It was one of the best things he'd smelt in years; he hadn't had a chance to appreciate the world Above for far too long. 

Magic really was a drug, it was no wonder People never broke the rules of the Book; magic was far too precious a substance that without it all chemicals that twisted the brain would be simply Methadone to a Heroin addict. 

Root barely remembered to pat some cold earth over the wound he'd made in the planet's side in order to plant the acorn, before taking to the sky as if memories and age had not recently driven him from it. 

He set the timer on his watch and revved the engine of the wings – the latest model, very streamline and smooth in flight; he hadn't had anything nearly as professional when he had set the record. 

He flew North East, running hot once more. He didn't improve his record, but a 169.3 km/hr average isn't bad for an old, red-faced elf. 

He felt like he was _Julius_ once more. The elf who'd roamed the streets, terrorizing old pixie's cats. 

It was truly amazing what a good shot of magic could do for an old soul. 

* * * * *

There was a newspaper on the desk in front of Trouble Kelp. Captain Vein was still standing just on the other side of the desk, having brought the copy in as soon as it had landed on his own hands. It wasn't exactly a subtle piece of journalism that had their attention. In fact, it was rather bold, and quite prominent, the headlines taking up quite a lot of the front page. 

_**"LEP COMMANDER JULIUS ROOT MISSING  
Feared KIA**_

In the Police Plaza there has been no appearance of the regional Commander, Julius Root, in charge of all Haven and Haven's hinterland police forces, for over 3 days. Acting Commander Trouble Kelp has been worried about the whereabouts of his superior, especially in the recent events that have troubled Haven. It is thought—" 

"D'Arvit." Trouble looked up at Captain Vein over the copy of the after-midnight paper, scanning over the rest of the article, hoping for something more promising yet knowing that it wasn't going to appear any time soon. "We're in trouble." 

"I thought that was why you picked your name." 

Trouble pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "That was not funny, Vein. Do not do that again. However true it might have been, once, when I was a hot-headed flyboy." 

Trouble pulled the palms away, blinking his eyes a few times before picking up a cup of half-cold instant coffee. He drained the mug in one gulp. "Do we have any idea how the press found out about Root being missing?" 

Vein shrugged. "It could have been anything that made them realize. Anything. The way the corridor to his office is clearer than it should be. The lack of red faces screaming at the poor newsreaders, telling them to clear off. _Anything_. And the important thing is what are we going to be able to do about it. They're saying that maybe Root was Killed In Action, that's a myth we can't afford to _not_ dispel." 

"I know. The city is in enough of a panic without adding something like this to it all. Although," Trouble laughed, mockingly, "what action was he killed in? We haven't had any conflicts since before E1. We don't have any leads to do anything by. We don't know of the important people who were involved, we don't even have any ways to find out." 

"Well, I'm getting suspicious of Root as well. He's disappeared the last two times there's been trouble." 

Trouble glared at Vein. 

"Hey, I was kidding, Trouble. Of course I was. I know that both times Root's been drawn away from the Underground, probably so these things can happen. People know that he's the head of the LEP, the red-faced driving force that gets us up in the morning. But the media's thinking of his disappearances in that way; I wouldn't be surprised that the next one says that he's off with his mistress, drunk. So that's what we've got to do… preemptively strike against the media. We can't have another fiasco like when we suspected Foaly to be a traitor; that got out by the next day. There've been too many opportunities for the public to lose faith in the LEP recently. And then things just get messy." 

They both thought of riots, of people 'taking the Law into their own hands' and going out to lynch whichever minority they liked least. "What do we say though? What excuse can we give for the Commander being missing, especially when we can't tell the press when he'll be back?" 

"Sick?" 

Trouble rolled his eyes. "You've been watching Mud Men soaps. If Root was sick, it'd be far too serious." 

"Dead relative?" 

"Like that'd stop Root from coming into work." 

"Visiting the other regional Commanders in order to gain some useful information, as well as forming new alliances with the police forces of Atlantis, the Dwarfs and the Kry'rae?" 

Trouble raised an eyebrow. "Well, we don't have any better solutions. Even though it could be proved false quite easily." 

Vein put on his 'talking to the press' face. "_'It's an issue of delicate tact, an effort to unite the sometimes divided areas of the Underground against a common enemy.'_" 

"Good enough. Although, putting 'delicate tact' into the same sentence as 'Commander Root' should prove that it's a lie. Who's going to say it? You or me?" 

"You, Trouble. It'll seem more official. They might believe it. How good are your acting skills?" 

"I joined the police. Of course I can't act. I've only got 'I'm sorry for your loss', 'if you don't get moving there'll be trouble', 'I'm watching you' and 'I swear I'm listening, sir' expressions." 

"Use the 'listening' one then, Trouble. People of the press feel awkward when someone appears to be listening to them hard, they're scared they might be caught out telling untruths." 

"Well then, let us go to press, Captain." Trouble stood, pushing the newspaper to the bottom of a little-used filing drawer he had beside his desk. He stood back to let Vein leave the office before him. 

* * * * *

The shot of magic that Root had imparted on Artemis just before leaving had done its job, a far better job that even 2 cups of strong black coffee had been able to do. It was the same feeling of complete wellbeing that he'd last felt on the Mayak train, after accidentally draining Holly of her magic, and had rarely been felt at all before that incident. Magic was truly a wonderful substance. 

Artemis picked up the box he'd seen about Butler's person for the thirteen years he'd been alive, brushing a soft hand over the top. He'd never actually found out in any certain terms what Butler kept in it, but he took that it was probably survival items of all sorts, false identification under multiple nationalities and the names and details of connections in strategic cities all over the world. But now there was something else inside the slim case. Something even the People were afraid of. Although, quite a few were scared of him as well, which really was highly illogical if they were to give it any prolonged thought about strength and vulnerability. 

It was definitely something powerful, and Artemis had always had a fascination with the powerful, especially if it was in his hands. 

Artemis put the box down carefully on one of the many tables that were littered around the Library, which usually only held lamps and the occasional book that had been forgotten about and not replaced. 

He moved over to Holly once more, watching the beads of sweat forming on her forehead as her depleted immune system struggled against the flu virus and whatever other diseases were ravaging her body. He took her temperature, counted her heart beats for 15 seconds, then realized that Liam was standing just behind him, looking down at Holly as well, rubbing his eyes with a fist to help clear the sleep from them. Artemis then took a fresh needle and vial from the bedside table and removed another amount of blood for testing; the blue sparks healed the skin as soon as the tip was removed. 

"She's really ill, isn't she?" Liam sounded as if he couldn't quite believe the fact; the realities of the recent days (_how long had it been since that phone call and attempted blackmail?_) weren't yet realities it seemed. Artemis eloquently raised an eyebrow, pointing out the obviousness of Liam's question. "Yeah, I know. But she looks like a little kid, like she's only 4 or 5. But not. It's odd." 

"The word you're looking for is inhuman." 

Liam nodded. "That's the scariest part. I'm not meant to believe in fairies." 

"You don't have to believe in something you know to be true, you just have to accept it. That's how the existence of God could be disproven, since by his own Words he would not exist without belief, and with proof there is no longer a need to belief." 

"_Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. Who said nothing good came out of the 80's?" There was silence for a moment, contemplation, as Artemis moved around past Holly's bed and onto the one where Jac lay, looking far better proportioned in the human-sized bed. 

"How old is she? Do you know?" 

Artemis turned back to face Liam, who was still looking down at Holly as if she were the final proof of his insanity, so meaning that he wouldn't need to believe in his insanity any longer. "According to her LEP file she's eight-six." Liam looked shocked. Artemis grinned. "Root's in his 600's, I believe, though not yet middle-aged. Not technically at least, although I'm sure he's had a mid-life crisis." 

Liam shook his head, adding this to the long list of recently learnt items he hadn't known he needed to know. "What's she like, Artemis?" 

Artemis moved away from Jac's bed, back towards Liam and the comatose Holly. "She's… fiery. A hothead. And holds her grudges extremely close to her heart and mind. But a good soul, won't let something bad happen if there's a way she can prevent it. She doesn't pay attention to the rules if they stand in her way." 

"She sounds like a reasonable person to have on your side, covering your back." 

"She's got a fantastic punch at least." Artemis looked over at Liam once more, who was rather opened mouthed, probably because of the images his imagination was providing of this little chit of a girl punching the always aloof Artemis Fowl. 

"Come now, when will you stop being shocked, Brambling? It's most disconcerting that you continuously insist to imitate a rather unattractive fish. I would say 'you don't want to know', but you obviously do. So how about I just leave it with 'you are never going to know, so don't even try to ask me'? I think that'll work out best." 

The moment of 4am comrade was over, even though Liam had not looked at his watch since waking, so didn't actually know what time it was. Artemis moved towards Jac once more, noting that nothing serious was happening to her, glanced back over to the box on the side table, then moved on to his makeshift laboratory at one side of the Library. 

Butler came back into the room once more, having left to confer with his cousin and to make himself a mug of coffee and a sandwich. Liam jumped when Butler spoke from just behind his own shoulder: "Do you need anything, Master Artemis?" 

"Some greater understanding of that magic would be helpful." Artemis waved a hand over to where the box sat, ominous in its projection of simplicity. "Other than that? I'm fine, Butler. I'm going to wait until the Commander gets back before I even open that box though. And I'll try to get another line through to Foaly. Why do you think they missed _El'veis draíocht_ uses on my Medical Doctorate curriculum?" 

"They probably thought it was too much of a New Age medicine. You know how doctors feel about alternative medicines." 

"True." 

"Artemis," Butler moved closer, leaving Liam behind beside Holly's limp form. "I should probably tell you what happened at Stonehenge. I know that the Commander wouldn't want me to tell you, but I feel I must betray his trust for this. We entered the fort, and the entire area was … made up of, I guess … the magic inside that case. It affected the Commander, although I don't perceive it to have had any effect on myself. Exposure caused the Commander to have… a magical fit, I think. He fell unconscious after we'd been inside the fort for perhaps a minute, if that. Of course, the magic there was highly, highly concentrated. You shouldn't have to undertake any risks without first knowing what the possible outcomes might be, Artemis, as much as that is possible at least." 

"Thank you for telling me, Butler, but it's not as if we can examine the pros and cons for very long. Holly's dying, we can't exactly committee over the issue." 

"How far will you go, even if you can't figure out how to best use this?" 

"If she falls ill to a disease due to the _El'veis draíocht_ she'll be no worse off than she is right now. There is no choice." 

"I had thought you'd consider it that way, Artemis. Logic at all times, even in the face of responsibility." 

Butler almost smiled, and would have, if this were a matter someone could ever smile over. 

Root entered the room with a flourish, pulling off the wings and dropping them carelessly on the carpet, pushing the device to one side with the insole of a booted foot. He pulled off the heavy helmet, shaking droplets of condensation from his hair. He'd obviously been flying with the visor up, something that Holly had never done when trying her hand at the record. His face was flushed with windburn and adrenaline. He was almost beaming. It was a rather disturbing sight. 

"It's been so long since I was last running hot. I'd forgotten how much_ energy_ it gives an old fairy. Are you ready to tackle this disease yet, Fowl?" 

"Actually, I was waiting for you to return, Commander. Could I use your helmet for a line through to Foaly? Then he'll be able to view what's going on here." Responded Artemis, pulling his mobile from a pocket and bringing up the recent records. 

"Certainly." Root picked the helmet up from its recumbent position on the floor and threw it across the room at Artemis. Butler leaned across and caught it before it managed to smash into his employer's face. 

Artemis took it from Butler without looking up. "My thanks, Commander." 

Liam shook his head in amazement, wondering, for not the first time in the past few days, whether he had fallen into a particularly convincing dream, which was the only rational explanation he could really find for the state of the universe around him at this moment. 

"Foaly?" Artemis was speaking into the microphone in its case on the side of the helmet, the same model as he'd dismantled a year ago after kidnapping Holly. 

"Fowl?" 

"Of course. Butler and Commander Root arrived back about half an hour ago. They managed to collect the _El'veis draíocht_. I wanted you online before we tried to do anything with it though." 

There was an almost-whinny on the other end of the line. "Artemis Fowl, asking for help. Amusing." 

"There's nothing logical in doing stupid things for the wrong reasons. If there are others just as ignorant as yourself who can share any blame or retribution that may occur out of said stupid thing, then all the better." 

Root was the one who sniggered this time. 

"Let's just - for want of sounding like an uncultured American - get this over with." Continued Artemis. "Any particular ideas, Foaly? Anything you feel you should mention about the effects this magic can have on humans? Because, although it didn't affect Butler, I'm not so lucky as to share his trollish constitution. No offence intended of course, Butler." 

"When this magic was last really upon the surface you were a race of things crawling in the mud, going 'ug' occasionally when you were feeling sociable. So, I really wouldn't have an idea." 

"Well, here goes nothing at least." 

And Artemis plucked the metallic box from the table, flicked the small catch and flung it open. 

And if Artemis had heard Butler's attempts at describing the phenomenon at Stonehenge he would have agreed: it really did look as if it was something more than real, as though it existed in more than the usual dimensions (even all eleven dimensions that recent physicists had been suggesting). He thought that perhaps this was the personification of Dark Matter; something which had been troubling scientists for years now, since they'd invented it in order to prove some of their theorems correct. And if he'd known of Mrs Root's explanation of 'fluorescent black' in regard to the magic's colouring, he would have had to admit that this was the best description that was likely to be ever given; it was like trying to explain Beethoven to someone born deaf, the words didn't really exist that could possibly make sense of it without first seeing it for yourself. 

But, Butler had also been wrong. The magic was not holding itself together in a tight sphere. It was moving across the room with dizzying speed, dancing among the books on shelves, inspecting the microscopes and rows of chemicals, pausing for a moment over a medical text book open on Artemis's workbench. 

If Artemis had known of Butler's scared, unspoken observation that the magic was somehow sentient he would have spoken his agreement in that moment. But he didn't, so all he did was stand still, as Butler drew close to Artemis, who was still holding the empty box open on top of sweaty palms. 

It was moving far too fast and violently to be composed of happy particles of ten-thousand-year-old magic. 


	15. Sewing Sheets

**Disclaimer:** No ownership ect, ect, ect. If you want interesting disclaimers go to Artemis Fowl and the Hostage Situations by Lessa3. She and her sister do them in poetry.  
**Author's Note:** Thanks, as usual, to the wonderful inspiration that is **Ivycreeper**'s reviews. And also many, many thanks to **Simply Myself** who pointed out that I'd uploaded this all centered.   


**Chapter Fourteen**  
Sewing Sheets 

"_'It was discovered by a Muscovite – stop me if you know this already –' a middle-aged man was saying, as the young woman gazed at him in admiration – 'a man called Rusakov, and they're usually called Rusakov Particles after him. Elementary particles that don't interact in any way with others – very hard to detect, but the extraordinary thing is that they seem to be attracted to human beings.'_"  
- From Northern Lights, by Philip Pullman, (on Dust).   


-- _If Artemis had known of Butler's scared, unspoken observation that the magic was somehow sentient he would have spoken his agreement in that moment. But he didn't, so all he did was stand still, as Butler drew close to Artemis, who was still holding the empty box open on top of sweaty palms. _

It was moving far too fast and violently to be composed of happy particles of ten-thousand-year-old magic. -- 

And Artemis laughed. 

The magic paused, swarming like bees to be closer to the half-cracking laugh, not well used, the product of a braking voice. And it _was_ a swarm of bees, possessing a hive mind that agreed collectively where they were all to go, what they were all going to do. It was fascinating. And they were trying to return to the Hive, but they had been locked out. Or, rather, locked in. And they were rather annoyed about this state of things, even though the obstruction was now removed, replaced, of course, by sandstone, mortar, glass and thick tapestries. 

"There's iron in the alloy of that box, Butler. Right?" Artemis's voice contained caution, but calm understanding - a regular state of existence for him - squashed any internal conflicts quite easily. 

"Artemis?" Asked Butler, who was regarding the magic with the special state of mind and action that all Butlers moved in instinctively as soon as their charge was in a possibly threatening position. 

"The oldest of the myths. The fairy folk, the lords and ladies; the only thing which was a source of pain for them, or for anyone or thing from their realms, was iron, which is why horseshoes were nailed over doorframes and used for luck in more suspicious times." 

"Ah." It was barely more than a breath, and still they stood, Artemis wondering what he might be able to do, the others involved in undefined internal conflicts between fear and awe. 

The magic wasn't focused on Artemis anymore, and no one else was moving, although there was something about the dance of faux darkness through the air of the well-lit Library that drew a viewer in, that fascinated anyone, that created the strongest urge to touch, to hold, to possess and be possessed. It, the _El'veis draíocht_, was skimming over wooden surfaces once more, examining the not-quite tasteful rug over one section of the floorboards. Seeping through the gaps between cornices and ceiling, through tiny gaps by the lightswitches, which caused a surge of energy that short-circuited the system, cutting the electrical lights, until the room was in almost complete darkness, the only light coming from a few large windows through which the rays from the setting full-moon were shining. The particles moved through the rays like they were drugged, like the moonlight was a drug; like a young woman driving past a favourite shop which has new merchandise in the window – slowly, observing, envying. 

Some particles, after moving through the moonlight and being pushed out by their fellows, made their way over to the still humans and elf, who were still perhaps from unchecked wonder rather than oppressive fear. The magic moved around them, curious about the humans – a group moving close to the visible vein underneath the thin skin of Artemis's inner wrist, but the iron of his blood was too close and they jumped back as though electrocuted, before one moved forward once more cautiously, addicted to danger as, it seemed, not only humans and the People would always be, but also elementary particles of ancient magic. 

The particles lingered around the Commander, though, for far longer, keeping a distance apart as if respecting parameters already set, rules which the fairies had forgotten in the thousands of years since… whenever whatever it was had happened. Of course, these things can only be just understood by someone of a rather odd disposition, for who can imagine particles that weighted almost nothing to be conscious? But they were. 

Then there was a change in the patterns of the _El'veis draíocht_, which had until that moment been calming, reducing in intensity from when Artemis had first opened the box. The girls, comatose on the single beds in the center of the Library, had been discovered. 

The magic swarmed once more with a single specific purpose, congregating over the two small forms amongst white sheets. Apparently the rules that had forbidden the magic from touching the Commander was not the same rules relating to Holly and Jac. 

Before Butler could move more than a few steps from Artemis's shoulder, most of the particles had disappeared into the girls. 

And for the first time in days Jac moved of her own volition, her head twisting slightly to the side, eyebrows furrowed, a small gasp escaping. 

Holly moved as well, but it was a bit more pronounced, since it involved the morphing of her features from barely adult, to child, to ancient, eye sockets deepening to dark hollows. Then back again, to where she was approximately meant to be. She breathed in, a great gasping breath, and sat up poker-straight in the bed, something clicking with great force in her neck or back. Her eyes were forced open, whites showing, but they were focusing on nothing more than something far beyond reality. 

She started to fall backwards onto the bed, and Butler caught her and lowered her more gently. He saw a wisp of the frightening magic leak out from the corner of her mouth. 

The magic had found a crack in the plaster behind a bookshelf though, and it led down into the foundations and Irish stone below. Within half a minute all of the _El'veis draíocht_ had disappeared. 

"Did I just open Pandora's box?" asked Artemis. 

* * * * *

It was the Underground equivalent of late afternoon, as much as time ever had to matter under the earth, anyway. Willow woke up, shook off the remains of depression-induced hangover and promptly blocked herself away from the world, again. 

She saw Basil on the way to the bathroom, he was sitting on the couch he'd slept on the day before, and since he hadn't had a reasonable day's sleep in months, and definitely not since the E1 attack and his disappearance, he had slept for almost 13 hours in a state of exhaustion before the nightmares had had enough energy to disturb his sleep. He hadn't tried to go back to sleep afterwards; at least the bags under his eyes were not so noticeable as they had been and magic was able to fix everything else really. 

He was reading the paper. Cringing, but also reaffirming what he needed to do. 

Willow came back from a well-needed shower. She'd dressed in a sober maroon turtleneck and black trousers, normalicy was evident. So much so, in fact, that it proved that she wasn't coping at all, she was trying to prove the world sane, and it had never been sane. She ignored Basil's presence and made herself some toast. 

Basil put down the paper carefully, his face still curled in an expression of horrid sickness after reading the many articles about the AAA, having cringed every time he was able to mentally affirm or disprove one of the statements within it. He wished he knew nothing, but burying his head in the sand and doing nothing was not an option. 

"Willow?" He asked, moving into the kitchen. Not afraid that perhaps she'd throw the boiling kettle at him, but he wouldn't really have been surprised if that had happened. 

She didn't throw anything at him. She didn't even give him a 'hmm' of acknowledgement. She brushed past him on the way to the fridge to get some cheese, and at least the fact that he'd felt the heat of her arm meant that Basil could be sure that he hadn't actually died in the attack and was now a ghost who only thought himself alive. 

"Willow," he said, with more emphasis, not nearly as passive as before. "Willow, look at me." 

She turned, there were unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. She was… implacable. She didn't even know what she was feeling, what point she was trying to make anymore. "What do you want me to do, Basil? Why on Earth did you have to find me and tell me and ruin me yet again? Why did you tell me about Quentin and the AAA and William? There's nothing I can do to help you. Nothing. It's without purpose. Why didn't you just go to the LEP and be done with it? It doesn't have anything to do with me. So what if my best friend was doing something for Quentin, it was only because of you. So what if my brother is… doing whatever it is, he's a grown elf, he can handle himself, I'm sure." 

"I… I don't know why I came here, Willow. I felt that I had to. I could just stroll up to Police Plaza and incriminate dozens of People and there's a chance that…" Basil took a breath, and one step closer to Willow, who was on the other side of a small tiled bench. Willow took one step backwards. "William is doing illegal things. And these things won't just get him a slap on the wrist. He's been trying to create biological weapons. And he couldn't have done it by himself. He couldn't have. And no one Underground would do it without blackmail; you know all the people who'd possibly be able to do this, Willow, the biochemists. Would any of those do something like this for gold, for fame, for power? Seriously? Because I don't think they would. You all dedicate their lives to discovering peace, motivating life to go on further. I think you know what I'm saying. He must have gotten help from Mud Men, and in that case it's life imprisonment." 

"What about Cy? Cy wouldn't have done it either. Why did he do it?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a scared whisper. 

"Because of me." Basil drew a short breath in through his nose, holding the air in his lungs before letting it out as his ran a hand over his shaved scalp. "They used me as 'encouragement', blackmailing him into creating the bioweapons for them. I told Cy to not do anything, that it wasn't worth it. But he did it anyway." 

Willow bit her lip. "He really loved you. Enough to do that…" 

"He was selfish. He shouldn't have done it. He was willing to kill however many thousands instead of letting the AAA do their worst to me. It was a selfish act. And stupid. For who was going to say whether or not I was going to be one of the thousands killed?" Basil paused, a pause of gathering personal strength rather than one of strategy. "…And then, of course, it ended up killing him." 

"But he still loved you, Basil!" 

"Well, I think William's following in Cy's footsteps because he loves you enough to do stupid things." 

"What are we going to do, though?" 

"Well, I'm going to Police Plaza, I think. I need to help them as much as a can. Even if the deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers." 

"What's hell?" 

"Another Mud Man invention. A place where you go when you die if you lived a horrible life. A place of flame and demons and where you can never forget your past because your mistakes are beaten into you day after day, if there were such things as days. And there can't be days, because there aren't rest times; when there is no night, how can you distinguish a day?" 

Willow looked away from him, towards a drab print upon the far wall. "Do you suppose Cypress is there?" 

"I don't know. I don't want to think about it. If he is, I'm planning on joining him. It shouldn't be that hard. …And I can't imagine that it'll be very long until I am there." 

* * * * *

The next newspaper headline, in the first paper of the night, was too horrible to swear at, all Trouble could do was reread it, dumbfounded that such a thing had managed to make it into print. He plucked a copy from the stand and dropped a few coins into the stallholder's palm without meeting the elf/sprite hybrid's eyes. 

He was scared to read it, but the morbid fascination that always accompanies items of doom drew him to open the tabloid spread before even making it home to his apartment (where he'd been ordered to return to for a few hours by Vein, even though he was superior to him, but Vien had judged him unfit for duty, and that his scent of dried sweat was too strong for fairy contact). 

The article's title wasn't exactly fit for publication either. 

"_**

WHO'S IN CHARGE OF OUR CITY?  
Acting Commander Kelp Seen at AAA Meeting

** _

There is photographic evidence linking Acting Commander Kelp, infamous for choosing 'Trouble' at his naming ceremony 87 years ago, an age when he couldn't blame such judgment on Marylin Manson's influence, to a recent meeting of the Anti-Atlantis Association. It is believed that Kelp has been an Associative for over thirty years, ever since an unfortunate incident in which an Atlantean insulted him. The question we have to be asking ourselves is whether or not we are prepared to put the fate of our city into the hands of the enemy? 

It is rumoured that Lady Shesh-hin, the Atlantean representative on the Council, recently returned to Atlantis due to explicit intimidation from Kelp himself, not for the internal political reasons which she used as her excuse to leave Haven. Such extents should not be tolerated, but who can stop the police? Is anyone going to even try? 

Is Haven truly a multi-specieal society? Atlantean, Gnome, all non-elf based species have been leaving our fair city in drones, no longer feeling safe to walk the streets many were brought up on. And who should be protecting the streets? The LEP, the largest units of which are all based out of this city, as well as the majority of Above Ground operations being implemented from behind the closed doors of Police Plaza. 

Not three weeks ago the citizens of Haven were witness to the weaknesses of the LEP. Not only in their weaponry, which relied on the good will of a single pixie, nor only their fighting techniques, which relied on aforementioned weaponry. But also the unstable forces at work within the ranks. The Regional Commander regularly disappears, and it is known from our sources, who have asked to remain unnamed, that no one within the Plaza or outside of it know where Commander Root so often disappears to. Apparently Root was missing for an entire 17 days only a few months ago, but the incident was not reported to the media or the public. 

Is our political and governmental system worthy of the accolades said in their name? Or is Chairman Cahartez and his cronies as outdated as the Frond Dynasty? 

But the power of Haven does not even lie in the hands of the Council; it lies in what must be called the Underground militia. The LEP, the organization that not only polices our streets, arresting drunkards for disturbing the peace, but also contains the Judicial system, health and welfare committees and the management of the education department. Our city is run by the police, a group of people who have faith in weaponry, not the Book. 

And the LEP is run by a man with no self-discipline or courage, who flees the city at the first sign of trouble. Or, alternatively, by an elf as bigoted as the people who have destroyed our way of life through their act of terrorism. 

Too much of the power of Haven lies in the hands of too few, and those few do not always appear to have been the best choices for Command. 

Yes, Trouble is definitely in charge of our city. But what are we going to do about it?" 

Trouble hadn't eaten breakfast that evening but he was sure that as soon as he had he would feel sick in the stomach. 

He arrived at his apartment, dropped his keys and helmet beside the door, kicked his shoes off and moved straight towards the shower, forgoing the kitchen completely, because the vomiting wasn't a good idea. He showered (admitting to himself that Vein had been quite correct), and dressed in a new uniform before moving towards the kitchen to make himself a nutritional shake then a strong cup of coffee. He wouldn't be able to sleep on a cloud after that article, and he needed to get back to the Plaza ASAP to… well, there wasn't really all that much they could do other than a direct denial, which wasn't ever a good tactic. Hopefully none of the papers had tried to get some correspondence from the people Root was supposedly with, although, judging from the collective lucks of Trouble, Haven, and the LEP at this moment, someone probably had. 

Trouble would survive without any real sleep; he'd managed to catch a few moments rest on one of the benches that were scattered around the Plaza for precisely that purpose. Rumour had it that Root had a bench all to himself someplace, but thinking that he just yelled at whoever was utilizing it until they scattered was probably more accurate. 

Root would be back down in Haven soon enough, and then Trouble would be able to go back to worrying from his usual less prominent position where he didn't actually have to make any important decisions regarding the subjects of the worry, and where no one really gave a damn what he did or didn't do, short of actual murder. 

That was a comforting thought, in a cowardly sort of way. 

It was not a comforting situation to walk into your own small, little-used kitchen and find a naked Kry-rae High Priestess sitting comfortably on a stool, a length of white material across her lap that she was sewing together. 

"Ah, Kelp," said Vinyáya without looking up from her sewing; Trouble's pair of kitchen scissors used to snip the tops off soups and shakes that came as powders in foil packets were on the table in front of her. "Hope you don't mind, but I borrowed a sheet of yours." 

"I don't mind. Uh…" 

"I was in one of those situations you just have to get out of quickly, even if you are starkers. I'm sure you understand that, Kelp." She finished the sewing with a few quick stitches, stood up, shaking out the material – one of a pair of white sheets Trouble had gotten as a house warming present from a partially-senile Aunt – and looking at it with a critical eye. She pulled the makeshift gown over her head, plucked a hair from her head and tied that around her waist to pull the sheet together just above her hips. 

There were quite a few questions that were clamouring to be asked first, but he'd never really been in the situation he was in now. He knew nothing more about the etiquette attached to female acquaintances turning up naked in his apartment than what he'd seen in movies, or in rather uninventive wet dreams. The question that arrived at his lips first was what seemed to be the most unimportant one, as these things go in real life. 

"Where did you get a needle from?" 

Vinyáya smiled at him, then pushed the needle back into an elaborate clip that held back most of her waist-length dark hair. 

"How much explanation do you need before you'll let me help you, Kelp? Because you do need help. A lot of it, probably." 

"As much explanation as is relevant to me or the continued safety of Haven. Although, the term '_continued_ safety' implies that it's in any way safe right now. Have you read the paper?" 

"Yes. The source—" 

"One of the Council?" 

"Yes." 

"Thought it might have been. Some of the stuff recently has been too accurate. Cahartez?" 

"Don't be silly, he's far too stupid. Joesph is the one. Lord Peat. He wants the government to be remodeled; it would be of great benefit to himself. He's got the Dwarfish instinct for grasping at gold, he's just decided to grasp at the most slippery, satisfying and stylish form of gold there is: politics. And he's not above stealing, of course. But you have to be ruthless in this world of ours." 

"Your sympathies?" 

"Towards peace." 

"Any other specifications, Ma'am, or is it a free-for-all type of arrangement?" 

"Not many specifications, I admit." 

"Loyalties?" 

"My People; then the People." Trouble raised an eyebrow, a query that had nothing really to do with trust. "I'm a diplomat, Kelp, I'm meant to put the Kry'rae before anything else." 

Trouble nodded, because although he felt no specific loyalty towards elves as a whole, he had no need for that; he understood the idea of minorities at least. And followed politics. It was quite certain that truly Vinyáya felt first for herself, then the Kry'rae, then the People, but that was to be expected. No one was selfless, least of all a politician. 

But most politicians at least started out with good intentions. 

Trouble looked her up and down, the sheet-gown looking amazingly flattering on her frame, which was surprising, considering how he remembered the incident when it had been used to mop up Grub's vomit when multiple people had spiked the fruit punch at a Beltane party. Vinyáya was slightly shorter than himself, but he was tall for an elf, for any fairy; her eyes were as dark as her hair, hiding her emotions and motivations - the dilations of the pupils would be almost impossible to detect; her ears were pointed, of course, and her skin was tinged with a Kry'rii's dusting of dusky blue, highlighting her cheeks like makeup. She was dangerous, ruthless, predictable only in someone being able to know she would always be unpredictable. He could see why she would be made a High Priestess; she looked powerful, impressive, as if you could worship her instead of whatever she was proclaiming. He could also see why she'd been moved to politics, as no Church really wants someone like her in their ranks. She would make anyone uneasy after five minutes. 

She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling at his - in reality – amateurish scrutiny. 

"Where are we going, Ma'am?" 

"Somewhere interesting, Kelp." 

"I'll get my helmet then." 


	16. Gnats

** Disclaimer:** Am I the only person who's ever persisted writing another one of these per chapter once I've past 60 000 words? Not mine. Thankfully. Artemis would possibly be as pathetic as Basil and Willow if he were mine. (I've got a phobia of original characters.)  
**Author's Note:** After quite a bit of deliberation, and changing things over in the last few chapters substancially then changing them back, I've decided to completely ignore the fact that the Underground most likely use electronic newscreens, rather than the tradition newspaper as we know it. Seriously, we've got the technology to have electronic, renewable 'papers' right now; it's illogical to think that the Underground wouldn't as well. But, as with us, perhaps the whole idea and traditions that surround a physical paper prove too much to be scrapped for the sake of technology and a few trees (would it really be the same arguing over politics or the latest royal scandal *coughPrinceCharles/Butlercough* *HUGEgrin* if it wasn't actually in front of you, only on a laptop-like screen?). The fairies recycle anyway. And maybe it's only Holly's who's Vegan (other than the dolphin thing).  


**Chapter Fifteen**  
Gnats 

"_Although I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance._"  
- William Shakespeare (The Winter's Tale IV:3)   


Most of the people in Brambling House were… out the other side of exhaustion, where mental capability is a foreign, half-explained dream. They were resting in the reality where things move slower, and time disappears between blinks as though it is being eaten by a giant monster. Root was even feeling the effects of the dawn hour, even though he was running hot as well as it only being his equivalent of early evening. 

Artemis was wide awake though, of course, reveling in the power of magic, the glee that comes with beating the idea of sleep off and keeping it at bay for far longer than should be possible. It was power over nature, and he had never liked the idea of giving up eight of your precious hours per night to be wasted on regeneration; sleep had always seemed like such a waste of time. He had been doing his strange things with blood and lymph samples, mixing chemicals and using them to test what had occurred as a result of the _El'veis draíocht_. He also had a glass slide of Holly's blood on the microscope's platform. And it was as amazing as the original viewing of the blood had been, with the swirling, singing dance of bright blue magic - that he had thought imitated life very well, until the display from the _El'veis draíocht_ - if only because of the changes. 

There were negligible amounts of magic in her blood, only fragments of broken dull sparks that were failing to spark at all. Fragments of her own magic, but also fragments from the pseudo-HIV virus that had fallen apart with the Ancient's magic. Or, rather, had been pulled apart so forcefully that particles had been ripped in two with the force of it and were now drifting rather aimlessly through her bloodstream. 

Holly was still unconscious, as was Liam's sister, but they were both comparatively well, even though they still possessed a fever and their faces were flushed. They weren't getting worse, at least, and that was the most important immediate goal. And Holly was no longer at Death's door, and the fact that she had ever been and her life had rested on their shoulders was bound to be a concept that would come back to haunt Artemis as soon as he had realized that was the truth of the matter. 

"Fowl?" Asked the Commander, who was sitting on a couch, watching his Captain with ferocious care that he was attempting to hide, but couldn't quite; it was always her it seemed, the best, the brightest, one who simply attracted trouble like she did the males of the Plaza. "How is she?" 

"Holly's completely without magic, Commander, but otherwise perfectly fine. The _El'veis draíocht_ even managed to wipe out the flu virus, not only the HIV. Your sister's the same, Brambling." Artemis finally turned from his microscope, closing a medical textbook with a slam of pages that sounded like the most perfect of finality to his ears. "They should wake up soon enough. Holly will have to complete the ritual if she so much as wants to _mesmer_ize someone, so we'll have to remain up here until at least tonight, which is pretty much what we would have had to wait till anyway, wasn't it, Commander? Tonight will be the second of the full moon, so she can refuel, we can rest, and then we can all make our way down the stairs to Haven to deal with these terrorists of yours." 

"What do you mean, Fowl?" 

Artemis turned to Liam, an eyebrow raised. "You didn't really think, Brambling, that after all this you could just waltz off to Brussels in time for Christmas?" 

Liam shrugged the question off, not admitting his thoughts. "Well, not really, but…" 

"Let me tell you a story, Liam. Strangely appropriate, don't you think?" Liam glared at the condescension in Artemis's voice. "Oh, don't worry, it's only slightly nasty. It's about a man who told people what he knew and then, of course, this came back to bite him." 

Artemis grinned, rather evilly, and the Commander gave a little snigger, although he wouldn't have admitted that to Fowl. "Once upon a time there was a General called Pattern. He was a rather silly man, not looking at how the world politics were going at the time, because just before the beginning of World War II he published a book. A book on tactics for tank warfare. But when the war came, he lost his battle, using the strategies of which he had developed only a few years ago and published, all those things he'd thought would work best. Can you guess why he lost? Even after having so many fantastic strategies, enough to put in a book? And yes, it was a tank battle, not something where he was out of his element." 

"Because the opposing General read the book, so knew exactly what Pattern would do, why he would do it, and pretty much all that was going on in Pattern's head." 

"Correct, Brambling. Which is why we are not going to be flitting off Underground until we've found out about and taken out the people involved with this. And you're going to keep writing whatever it is they are telling you to write. And the same for yourself, Commander, of course." 

"Point taken, Fowl. It's simply that my parents will worry." 

"They know that you have a Butler with you, they don't have any need to worry." And the way he said it, with complete faith in the abilities of any of the Butler family, was amazing to Liam, who vaguely wondered why Artemis felt it so strongly. 

"You know, Fowl, you assumed that the Underground would be able to put you up for a while?" Interjected the Commander. 

"You're a kind set of species, you wouldn't have refused." 

"I'll have to pull a lot of strings to bring more Mud Men Underground. I hope you appreciate what the Council is going to do to me as soon as we get down there, Fowl. Unfortunately, I can see what you mean with the Mud Man general - Holly will _not_ like having to keep her head down once she wakes. And someone _does_ have an assassination contract out on you, I guess. But after all I've done for you, you should be leaving me… oh, I don't know… at least half a tonne of gold to me in your will." Root gave a grin, eyes sparkling. 

"Still hung up on that, Commander? You hold grudges for far too long. I've almost completely forgotten about the troll, personally." 

"That was Cudgeon; don't blame it on me. I don't employ trolls." 

"Well, I can't legally have a will yet, although I'm sure to remember your kind services sometime in the future." 

"Good." 

"Now, how about we plan how we're going to go about getting all of us down there tonight sometime?" 

"Is that how they hide? The …fairies… live underneath the earth?" Asked Liam. 

"I'm sure that they are going to mindwipe you anyway, so it doesn't matter where they live, you'll forget it. I think we should all catch some sleep. I'll be able to stay up for another few hours at least; I'll watch Captain Short and your sister till then. I don't think they'll wake for a while, though." Artemis turned away from Liam once more, towards the Commander. "I don't suppose you'd be able to give them each some magic to help in the process?" 

"It won't do as much good to Holly as her own magic would, but it is better than nothing." Root moved over to the two beds, lending some cobalt coloured magic first to Jac and then to Holly. 

Liam shook his head, blinking his eyes in a vain attempt to relieve himself of some of the fatigue. "Later, Fowl." 

"Oh course, Brambling. Are you going to bed as well Butler? Marcus?" 

"Yes. Even Butlers need their rest occasionally." 

And Artemis and the Commander were left alone in the Library once more; Artemis started to pack up some of his equipment, placing medical texts into the large cardboard box in which they were stored most of the time. He placed those of his chemicals that had been moved out of place back where they were supposed to be, sodium carbonate next to sodium hydroxide, next to iodine; the more complex of substances were stored in line of small bottles behind the first. 

He came to the microscope he had been using most often, looking through the eyepiece once more at the slide of Holly's blood left upon the stage, with its complete lack of magic whatsoever. 

"Commander?" Root gave a grunt of acknowledgement; he was busy examining book titles upon the shelves. "What do you think the _El'veis draíocht_ actually _did_? How did it work?" 

"It's more powerful than our own, it can overcome ordinary magic. I told you that." 

"Yes. But what did it actually, physically _do_?" 

"I don't know, Artemis. It's not a well studied subject, we fairies are far too scared of it." 

"Holly's magic is all gone. Completely. There's not even a trace of it in her system. Nor any of the magic from the virus. None. It's as if it was …consumed… by the _El'veis draíocht_." 

"Maybe it was. There's no point asking me though, Fowl." 

"I would like to see a sample of your blood again, Commander. If you don't mind. Butler told me about Stonehenge, I would like to see the effects from that." 

"I'm fine, Fowl. If anything had happened because of the _El'veis draíocht_ I wouldn't have had any magic left to boost your system, it would have been 'eaten' like what happened to Holly's magic." 

"Hmm… True enough, Commander, I guess." Artemis finally pushed the slide of Holly's blood off the microscope's platform with a fingernail, catching it in his right palm. He put it with the other equipment he needed to wash before packing the contaminated articles away. 

"Should you get in contact with Foaly or the LEP about five people who took the effort to evolve coming Underground tonight?" 

"Yes, I'll do that. Are you going to go to sleep as well?" 

"Soon. I'll stay up for another few hours, perhaps I'll catch up on my ancient Irish myth. Although, where and why do you guess the _El'veis draíocht_ disappeared to? I know what your standard answer is, there's no need to give it to me again - " 

"The Irish ground absorbs all types of magic. It's something in the soil, or in the minds of the People. There's something different about it anyway. I already told you about magic being absorbed by Ireland, that is why the Ancient's forts are on Great Britain." 

"Ah, yes, I remember. Thank you, Commander." 

"When do you suppose Holly will wake?" 

"I honestly don't know, Commander. I'm sure that she would not appreciate waking up to you breathing over her, worrying so much." 

"Probably true, Fowl." 

"She'll wake though now, which is the important thing." 

"Yes. Yes, I agree." The Commander brushed a hand over Holly's sweaty forehead, thankful that he wouldn't have to write yet another obituary this year. Hopefully anyway. 

* * * * * 

The transport was moving with excruciating slowness, as was rather usual, any area of Greater Haven attracting huge amounts of traffic at all hours of the night or day. Trouble still didn't know where they were going; and himself and Councilor Vinyáya were not talking, Vinyáya not being inclined to provide answers to questions that Trouble was too insecure (not scared, of course) to voice, which included queries concerning just where they might be traveling to. Trouble gathered the courage that he was famous (or infamous) for, sunk into it like it was an old worn coat until his …awe… of the Kyr'rii woman beside him was buried deep enough for him to dare to break the uncomfortable silence, that was only being highlighted by the scratching radio broadcast of the latest Haven Hits. 

"Ma'am? Where are we going?" 

Vinyáya did not turn her head from watching the unmoving traffic that lined the road before her. "A place where everyone will know your face, so I'd advise you to set your visor on reflect until we meet my contact." 

Trouble blinked in surprise. "_Monomedia_?" The name – street slang that had really only been used within the ranks of the LEP, but had recently been taken up in crime fiction television and so become more wide spread – was quite a misnomer. Monomedia was not a name given to a place where only one form of press operated, as its name might suggest to the discerning individual, but was actually rather ironical. The 'mono' in the name actually coming from 'monopoly', since it was an area almost the size of a suburb from which almost all the media and press of Haven – and the Underground – operated from, minus a few illegally broadcasting, pirated radio networks. Not only the offices of the not-quite-young women with fake blonde hair, and fake breasts, and fake bronzer (just because the People can't be out in sunlight doesn't mean that they are free from the trends for tanned skin that humans are subjected to on a generational basis), who spent their days annoying politicians and creating stories that would sell well; but also the press rooms where paper was continuously recycled into broadsheet after broadsheet, tabloid after teenage mag. It was an amazing place to visit, each paper or magazine, radio or television station having their own building or two, so there could feasibly be ten or more school tours on everyday and no one would never know. An amazing place… if only your picture hadn't been on the front page of half the paper media that evening, and a recording of yourself giving false assurances on the audio-visual aspects. 

"You sound shocked, Kelp." 

Trouble nodded. "A little. I feel like I'm fraternizing with the enemy." 

Vinyáya gave a little, mocking laugh. "How do you know who are your enemies and who are your friends? An enemy can be a friend in times of need; an enemy can save your life. A friend can betray you with the slightest motive or provocation. The media, you should know, is both at once, and quite convenient if you know how to use them best, and how to handle them correctly. There are many enemies Kelp, and most are not nearly so blatant and obvious as the media, so you should be thankful for them. Although, often, the lesser of two evils is the press." 

"But still not comforting, Ma'am. Into the Lion's den and all that craic." 

"No, probably not comforting for you, Captain. But then again, you're scared of being called to a meeting with the Council." Vinyáya smiled, glancing over at Trouble who was fiddling with controls on his helmet and pointedly not even thinking anything concerning the insult (only an observation really) she had just paid to him. "Don't worry, Kelp, you get used to it all soon enough. The media, the Council. Root doesn't even bother with the papers anymore. I suspect that he doesn't care what the public is being fed all that much, because it's all gone within a day, replaced with a new doctrine. Up to a point of course, but isn't that with everything." 

She paused for a moment, obviously wondering whether she should say what was on her mind. "It was gutsy to say what you did yesterday, Kelp. Incredibly stupid, but you had to do something, even though it relied on the chance that they'd just quote you and leave it at that, not dig any deeper. They probably would have digged if it hadn't been so late, so close to the time of press. I don't suppose you'll see fit to tell me what you _actually_ know about the good Commander's absence from his precious city that he usually only leaves on pain of death? We – the Council, that is – have to insist that he take a holiday every 2 years or so, or we at least drop some sleeping pills into his coffee." 

Trouble smiled slightly at the mental image Vinyáya presented before answering. "He's Overground. And I couldn't exactly tell _that_ to the public." 

"Why? Not why you couldn't tell that to Haven, I know that; why is he Above?" 

"Because there's been some… blackmail going on. And it reeks of Mud Man involvement, so he thought it warranted LEP involvement as well." 

"Why him? Why not you, Captain Vein, Captain Short?" 

"Holly was given a disease, she's ill. He takes that personally, anything to do with Holly – Captain Short – he takes personally. And the blackmailer knew that, which is why they chose Holly. Although, Root takes anything with a pinch of personal." 

"Ah. He needs to give that girl up. It's not healthy." 

"Yeah, well, she's rather beautiful. The cause of wet dreams for half the Force." 

"And why Above?" Vinyáya was not one to be led of track. 

"They're – _he's_ - getting help … from Artemis Fowl. Fowl sent a warning to us about it just before Holly got sick, he'd found out… somehow, I don't know how honestly." Trouble was waiting for incredulous expression, or at least a raised eyebrow. 

"Good." And Trouble was the one wearing the incredulous expression upon his military-jawline inflicted face. "I like to be contradictory to everything the Council says, the Fowl Affair is just one of many things that I disagree with Cahartez over. The wonderful, conservative Chairman of ours still wants to mindwipe Fowl, even after the Bwa'Kell Uprising." 

There was silence for a moment or two, before: "With your questioning nature, you'd have made a very good reporter yourself, Ma'am." 

"Of course. Religion, politics, media… they are all linked so neatly with each other." 

The traffic finally started moving slowly forward like a particularly sluggish stinkworm that was stuck in a mud bath, and Trouble recognized the turnoff towards Monomedia. 

"Ma'am? Vinyáya?" 

"Yes," Vinyáya responded blandly, suspecting what was coming for rather good reasons, because some questions are impossible to suppress, when the curiosity factor is past a certain critical level. 

"How did you get into my apartment? And… Well, why were you… stark— In the birthday suit?" Trouble blushed, then wondered why under Earth he was – it was an entirely reasonable question, if phrased rather badly. But he still couldn't manage to calm the red of his cheeks. 

Vinyáya suppressed her grin for the sake of the Captain beside her – no one would ever be able to accuse her with any good reason of being _that_ cruel. "I got into your apartment by picking the lock. You really should know better than to only have a single deadlock on your door, Captain." 

"That's a criminal offen – " Vinyáya raised an eyebrow, conveying in that single movement her hopes that he wasn't a brainless fly-boy, because if she had wanted one of those she would have appeared in Chix Verbil's apartment instead, although she would have most definitely put on some clothes before that particular meeting took place. "Sorry, Ma'am, habit. I'm sure you understand." Vinyáya's other eyebrow rose to meet its well-groomed mirror-image, showing her healthy skepticism of that statement. 

When she was sure that she would get no more reaction out of Trouble that the red of his cheeks deepening to Beetroot shades, she continued. "And I had just been to visit Lord Peat." 

"Huh?" A crease of puzzlement was added to Trouble's red brow. 

"_Oh_." Because he wasn't dim. 

"Ick! Err, sorry." Because there are some things a mind shouldn't have to endure, let alone have to deal with on a still empty stomach; and some times when the imagination should really have the decency to shut down completely before displaying some ideas in graphic detail. 

"I thought… You know… You were a Priestess and…Priestesses…" 

"I am no longer a Priestess, Captain." 

"Yes, I knew that." 

"What do you guess might possibly be one of the reasons for that?" 

Trouble had absolutely nothing against cross-species couples, nothing at all. Except Dwarves. Because he had been to an autopsy of a Dwarf in LEP Academy and the images had stayed with him, in rather vivid Technicolor. 

"Anyway, that is hardly the rule for the Kry'rae. Traditionally the Priestesses where the old mothers of the clan, the wise ones who were known to care for others. Now, some people take that as more figurative, and People will always misinterpret history, but there are no laid down rules as such." 

Thankfully, Trouble was saved from any kind of response by the transport cruising to an easy stop at the point just outside the 'gates' to the Monomedia complex, where the electro-magnetic strips would only work with authorization for the vehicle. Vinyáya inserted an ID card into a machine and the transport jolted forward once more, being directed by the pulses along the strips to a parking lot. The lot was behind a low-set concrete building with a large, rather sparkly sign, that only just resided this side of fluorescent (the People really had something to answer for sometimes when it came to adopting the Mud Men traditions of the 80's) that proclaimed it to be the property of _The Haven Mirror. The Mirror_ was a tabloid famous (or infamous, however you looked at it) for its amazing levels of inaccuracy and fantastically overblown stories of female goblins in far off tunnels giving birth to small Krakens. 

Vinyáya left the transport, adjusting her hair clip and – Trouble had to give a snort of laughter, the idea was so foreign – her _sheet_, or, at least, his sheet. Trouble paused for a moment before opening his door, then decided to take up Vinyáya's advice, pulling off his labeled badge to shove it into a pocket and putting his helmet on, flipping the visor down over his face. He hurried after Vinyáya, hoping that he appeared to be a bodyguard or escort, because Vinyáya was a member of the Council, so it wasn't actually unbelievable… as such. 

Vinyáya opened the back door of the building, a fire-exit, without knocking. Although, possibly this wasn't due to rudeness, or the need to make a dramatic entrance (neither of which Trouble would have put past his new-found companion), instead because of the decibel count inside the building, meaning that it was unlikely that anyone inside would have heard the knock if she had bothered with it. Vinyáya moved around workstationed cubicles, frantic fairies running (or flying, in the case of one dark-haired female sprite who appeared to have had a Dwarf-fat injection recently) to and fro as they made the news that people would read and believe tomorrow, but forget after that moment or two. 

Trouble looked over the shoulder of a pixie with dark roots, who was typing an article at the same speed that the excited woman on the other end of the phone – a phone held carefully between shoulder and ear, in the manner of mothers everywhere – was talking to her. 

_"It was like a swarm of gnats, coming out of the stalactite like a dam bursting."_

"And can you describe these 'gnats' for me?" 

_"They weren't gnats, they were only _like_ gnats. They were tiny, black, moving extremely fast, so you could barely follow them with your eyes—"_

"They sound like gnats." 

_"Blacker than that. They weren't gnats; I know gnats. You know how your magic moves, how it looks when you're injured? It was like that. They moved like that. Sort of, anyway."_

The pixie was making notes, as she went she elaborated on the story of the magic-infected gnats that had invaded an outer tunnel system and were causing havoc among the local population of hard-working, honest citizens. "And where do you live, ma'am?" 

_"Sruth ná Maoíle, just on the Western outskirts of Haven. I'm Poppy O'Shae, 347 years-old. I'm so glad you listened to me, my daughter doesn't believe me."_

"Thank you, Poppy. _The Mirror_ appreciates your call." 

The pixie hung up, typing a rough plan for the article with flying fingers. 

Trouble hurried after Vinyáya. A few People were glancing in their direction, before lowering their eyes and turning back to their works of creative fiction without a word. A short, balding elf with humour-ridden eyes opened the door into an office at the end of the workstations. It was a very comfortable office, stylish and simplistic, not reflecting the low-class media squabble just on the other side of the door. 

"Kelp," said Vinyáya, "this is Arthur Beech, editor of _The Mirror_ and director of _Haven Times_. Arthur, Captain Trouble Kelp, Currently Acting Commander of the LEP." 

Trouble removed his helmet, not subject to helmet hair because it was cropped so close to his scalp. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. Although, how under Earth you manage be involved in both _The Mirror_ and _The Times_ is beyond me." 

Arthur laughed. "I've got a split personality. No, seriously, it is just far more amusing in my middle age to be dealing with rogue Polar bears in equatorial tunnels than real politics and the power struggles between the Guilds. Polar bears make for far more interesting reading. And don't sue you." 

"And also the wonder that is baby Krakens born to Goblins," remarked Trouble. 

"Ah, yes, a new recruit was rather enthusiastic about that one. So, why are you here, Lady Kathatríen? I'm sure you would have dragged our dear Captain away from his AAA meetings for a social visit." 

"Information, Arthur. When is it ever not about information?" 

"Knowledge is power, my dear. Knowledge is power, yes, of course. What do you want to know? Other than the name of the Kraken babe, because I've been sworn to secrecy over that one." 

* * * * *

Basil closed the door behind him, making almost no noise at all. He had waited till late afternoon to leave Willow's apartment, because it was too dangerous to risk going out when there was likely to be fairies all over the city, going about their usual business as well as they could in light of the recent events occurring within their city. And the People were going about their usual lives remarkably well considering. It is truly amazing how well sentient races are able to adapt. 

He had left the apartment without much said to Willow at all, because there was nothing more that really needed to be said. And words wasted trivialized those of importance. 

The streets of Haven were almost deserted. More deserted than New York at 4am, but any location, Underground or Above, was always more deserted than New York. But less deserted than a country town after 9pm, because there was the occasional drunk leaning against a building, the occasional couple slobbering over each other in alleyways that they had thought were free from occupants; the occasional burglar, thief, mugger, because those types of people always thrive in times of chaos. 

The occasional light still shining through windows in a pub, red and green light reflecting through the stained glass. The occasional crowd from a party or gathering, all tumbling over each other as they tried to make their way down the street to wherever the party was being moved to. The occasional almost familiar voice, calling out your name in the street. 

"Rune! _Basil Rune_?" 


	17. That which is Ritual

**Disclaimer:** The Kraken is mine, and I have complete control over the media! Muah ha ha ha! Or… not. Artemis Fowl is mine and I have complete control over the books! Or… not. Artemis Fowl is not mine but I still have complete control over what he does in my stories! Or… not… because then he'd get himself together with Butler without me actually having to figure my way around the squick and the illogical nature of it all.   
**Author's Note:** Updates will be less frequent, because although I'm still endeavouring to NaNo this story, I'm leaving Ireland and will be traveling to France and England before getting back to Australia at the start of December. I'll still write BoaF, I just will not have much net access at all so I won't be posting all that often. Which probably means each chapter will get more editing before you see it. Aren't you lucky? 

To everyone: If you are looking for a good ficcing time (isn't that a word wonderfully close to f*cking), Vinyáya is a fantastic character to play with. She creates herself, and it's an oh-so-enjoyable experience. I recommend her to everyone. And after BoaF is finished, do not be surprised if I suddenly come out with a Holly/Juliet fic with side Holly/Vinyáya, because at the time I thought of the bunny the character of Vinyáya was too obscure, but now… Blame Kitty Rainbow, I was talking to her at the time. 

**Chapter Sixteen**  
That which is Ritual 

_"The young always have the same problem – how to rebel and conform at the same time. They have solved this problem by defying their parents and copying one another."_  
- Quentin Crisp   


Basil didn't turn, because he could recognize the voice of an Associative, a familiar and most definitely unwanted sound, the voice of someone he'd only had contact with a few bare times. And he didn't need nor want any more. 

"Rune, weren't you the… _you know_… at E1. And, well, there were rumours about you being dead. Why didn't you say they were wrong?" 

Basil did turn, in a moment of dramatics. "Because I wanted to be dead, Silcott. Will you tell anyone?" 

"You're alive, Bas! Your family and your friends and everything must be worried sick and --" 

"You can't tell anyone." 

"I… If you say, Rune." 

"You're going to tell someone, aren't you, Silcott?" 

"Hey, Rune, there's nothing –" 

And the punch didn't come from nowhere; it came from the rather distinct direction of Basil, going towards the very distinct direction of Silcott's nose. 

"You've drunk too much, Silcott," said Basil, assuming his powerful thug-like persona as blue sparks jumped over Silcott's broken nose. "You got into a pub brawl and are trying to regain your cred. No one will believe you." 

Silcott nodded, meeting Basil's eyes for only a moment before turning away in an effort to not offend the elf anymore. "Sure, no one ever believes anything I say. It's not worth saying it." 

"Yeah, it's about time you realized that." Basil moved on, "see ya around sometime, Silcott. Hopefully not too soon." 

"Right, right." Silcott scrambled to his feet, feet which were suddenly a whole lot steadier than they had been a few minutes before. He moved back towards the pub he'd just left, because after some events all you need is a new bout of drunkenness, because all that you'd got before had suddenly vanished leaving only a foul aftertaste. 

Basil moved down the street yet again, hugging the shadows cast by buildings in a way that he hadn't been before. He hated being the thug, but it worked in a lot of situations. Imagine the chances of running into an Associative; it was Frond's Law. And so was the half-worried, half-determined figure dressed in LEP uniform that stepped in front of him. "Sir, you are under arrest for unprovoked bodily assault." 

"Well, I was just coming to see you guys actually. It's so kind of you to give me a lift." 

* * * * *

Three minutes after Holly had woken she was clamouring to be let out of bed, had insulted Artemis thrice already and had had a momentary double-take when she'd seen her commander asleep beside her bed, his head resting on the side of the over-stuffed armchair. And she had not even asked for any explanation as to the whys or hows, nor given her reactions to the hows and whys. 

"You're vegan, aren't you, Captain? Except for a fondness for dolphin Juliet told me about. I could get you some tuna if you'd like - some companies have exceptionally high ratios of dolphin in tinned tuna." 

"No tuna. Or dolphin, thanks. Fruit, vegetables, whatever is least--" 

"Infected with polluted Mud Man-itis. You'd think we have Cooties, the way you fairies carry on." Holly distinctly didn't give a snort of laughter at him comment; she had far too much self-control. "Back on topic, thank you. You get your protein from lentils or soya, I suspect." 

"Clap clap, the Mud Boy knows his nutrients. And to think you thought cholera was caused by bad smells only 180 years ago." 

"I'll have Butler make something up for you, you need the energy. A soup perhaps. And you're rather lucky this Mud Boy knows his nutrients, because he just saved your life, not just your finger." 

Holly pretended to ignore him, because she hadn't quite figured out why he'd do something such as that. Not because he was a bad person, but because… he had had nothing obvious to gain from it, nothing at all. Nothing he knew about anyway. 

Holly was scared though, scared of how the debt would have to be repaid someday, possibly soon, possibly in many years time. But it would. 

Holly didn't like it when her life was indebted to someone else – not that it ever had been before – and she especially disliked the fact that such a debt would be towards a Mud Boy as devious, dangerous and manipulative as Artemis Fowl. It was lurking in her mind already. She didn't like the lack of self-control, more than simply obligation, because with fairies bonds of life could not remain unpaid. And she would spend the rest of her life waiting for the moment when enough would have been done for the debt to be lifted – when she had done enough for Artemis, for descendants of his a thousand years hence… And until then it would sit like a 10 kg weight at the back of her mind, a constant force that perhaps she'd get used to, but perhaps she would always recognize and be conscious of – because there are some things you can't forget. A portion of her magic and mind would always be dedicated to helping Artemis whenever he may need it; constantly waiting for the moment when the Universe would call out his need and she would have to answer, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, whatever the situation or consequences might be. 

She dreaded that moment, and could already feel the pressure of the days, years, centuries stretching out until she would be free once more. 

She mentally prodded the part of her mind that she pictured at the base of her skull, the place her magic resided. Prodded a section of thought that she hadn't known to exist until it had nagged her the moment she had slipped into the realms of semi-consciousness, insistent until she woke to face the subject of her thoughts. And then the obligation had sunk back down again, lurking under the surface. And such a subject for her thoughts and mind and magic and Book - and perhaps it was even connected with the shifting, shimmering, slippery material of her soul - be linked to… It was an oath she couldn't break, never, the world would not allow her to, and even though her conscience would not either, it was the lack of choice that struck her still. 

And… it wasn't just the one bond, it wasn't just a single strand of magic and mind and something else entirely that was linking her to her rescuer, not a lone oppressive promise that would have to be fulfilled. There were two. One to the Mud Boy standing before her, checking on the Mud Girl in the bed beside Holly who was stirring in the first stages of wakefulness, still asleep without a magic debt urging her awake. And another link to the Commander, who Holly knew to be perhaps a few rooms away, although she didn't understand how she could possibly know this. It was just as strong, just as pressing, as the one between herself and Artemis Fowl. 

"Root," she announced, not really shocked at all, but knowing that it would be far more normal if she were, knowing, technically, that it was a revelation that should create shock. "Artemis, what did Julius do?" 

"Since when do you call your Commander Julius?" 

"Since now!" She snapped. "What did he do? He saved my life as well." And she was anxious, her voice urgent. 

"He remembered about the _El'veis draíocht_, and how it might work to cure you. He collected it from Stonehenge with Butler." 

She almost laughed. "_El'veis draíocht_ is just a silly myth. A myth. _El'veis draíocht_, the Ancients – fictions of the Book. Fictions of a society that is so constantly desperate to prove itself better than the Mud People. The Book and the stories within are a form of suppressive propaganda that encourages hopeless fairies with promises of a fantastic Afterlife, so they don't get anxious about the life currently on their plate. The Book has been changed so much over the millennia, changes in rules and society, so that it fits with the current autocratic or dictator system. Propaganda and reasonings so the laws suppressing us by force and routine seem far more believable, purposeful - when they are extremely outdated, linked to ancient traditions that may have once had purpose but don't fit with society of today." 

"_El'veis draíocht_ is a myth that saved your life, Captain. You can't disbelieve everything you see written down, or everything spoken, just on the basis that it is written down, that it has been spoken. (Although, some of the only truths are those that can never be articulated.) But there is power and always a thread of truth that lies within every myth or legend. The 'top o' the mornin'' leprechaun - it's so far off, but based on truth. Sometimes things can only be understood if it is transferred into story, because then we only have to absorb it as fiction, not process it as reality." 

"Come on, Artemis. You're a scientist, a planner, a Mud Man of reason. How can you believe that the fairy race was created by some bored God-like creatures who wanted soldiers for their wars? Our skeletal structure shows that we're probably the descendants of pterodactyls." 

"I saw the magic – it was quite creepy actually. And it overpowered the magic in your own system, enough to ruin the disease which was being held together by magic. It ate all your magic, even. Try to _mesmer_ize me, Holly; you won't be able to." And Artemis turned properly to face her, looking into her eyes, not scared at all that he would loose control of his own mind by doing so. 

And she tried, thinking that at least then she'll be able to see if he really believes what he was saying, because Artemis was the type to never really speak his mind. And the trickle of magic at the base of her skull, which was always there, never depleted, never gone… was gone. It was shocking, and made her wonder what was forming the life-bond if not her magic, because People wonder rather odd, semi-unimportant things when faced with unknown situations. 

"It's gone," she announced, as Artemis had expected her to. "My magic is all gone. Every drop, so to speak, every spark anyway. Mud Men magicians have more magic than me." 

"I know, although our 'magicians' are extremely unmagical, though they know a lot about mirrors. You'll have to complete the Ritual before we leave to go Underground." 

"We?" 

"Yes. It's too dangerous for Brambling or I to stay up here right now. There's an assassin out there with a contract on myself, and Brambling's being monitored to see that he does the right things and his sister there," Artemis nodded towards Jac, "doesn't get any better." 

Holly grunted. 

"You can go to the oak-bend – 17 km away, the Commander didn't take long at all, I think he was trying to improve his record – after Butler's brought you something to eat, because you've got severely depleted resources on all counts." 

"Mud Boy… Artemis… Is it long overdue for me to ask for an explanation of what the D'Arvit happened? …Is happening." 

"Sit back down and I'll tell you a story." 

"Don't be patronizing, I'll punch you." 

Artemis experienced a momentary distraction as he remembered various well-placed hooks to his jaw. "I'm simply in the mood for stories." 

* * * * *

--_" What do you want to know? Other than the name of the Kraken babe, because I've been sworn to secrecy over that one._"— 

"Anything you have on the AAA and haven't yet published," replied Vinyáya. "Stuff from years ago as well, things which we might have missed recently." 

"Usual price, my Lady?" 

"What about doing something kind for an old friend?" 

"That doesn't pay for anything other than some brownies to give to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates." 

"And don't you wish to go to Heaven, Arthur?" 

"I don't _believe_ in Heaven for two reasons. One, I am a fairy, not a Christian. Two, I believe in reality instead, and trust me, sometimes it's really very hard to believe in reality. And I wouldn't make it up there to Heaven anyway, so there's no use trying. Therefore those brownies are absolutely useless to me." 

"True, true. I've already forwarded the usual to your account." Vinyáya turned back to Trouble, who was still rather amazed about all this. "Anything specific you need extra information on, Kelp?" 

Trouble frowned, then pulled a rather crumpled piece of paper with a single name scribbled upon it from his pocket, because however innocent Vinyáya might consider him to be he was not above opening his Commander's mail, and he was definitely the kind of 2IC that snuck looks at paperwork while being spoken to in his Commander's office. "I need anything and everything on this fairy, Sir Martin Wollemi. Especially anyone who might have any motivation towards revenge." 

"Ah, Wollemi, head of the Biochemist Guild. There's been quite a squabble going on within the guild, and the deputy leader has been rising like a nettle muffin lately. I sure we can find you something to run with though, Captain." 

"Thank you." 

And five minutes later they each had a screen in front of them, a screen that was searching for key words and displaying articles from all the major papers, as well as the occasional television broadcast or documentary. AAA, biochemists, Wollemi, a fellow called Straw, an internal feud between whoever and whoever - useless names, all of them. The LEP being responsible for the breaking up of an AAA meeting 40 years ago, Acting Commander Kelp an AAA, an arrest, an uprising, a victim's story, new laws being considered by the Council that would help in the fight against specieism. Nothing new, nothing that would help them bring these creatures down. And nothing which could say for sure who was responsible for the poisoning of Holly and the blackmailing of Commander Root - there were simply far too many people who would benefit from Wollemi's death, and, given the nature of the biochemist guild, all of them would be able to produce an artificial illness with enough motivation. 

Trouble sunk down a little more into the comfortable seat. And time moved as slowly as ever. 

Who would know anything more if the media could give them no help? 

Trouble continued to skim the articles, sometimes pointing one out to Vinyáya to ask what she thought of it before returning to the mind-numbing monotony that was the ever-changing but never different information whirlpool displayed upon his screen. 

There came a buzz from Trouble's helmet that had been discarded beside the chair he was sitting on. He picked it up in an instant of well-trained reaction, pulling it onto his head so that he could see the person who was trying to talk to him. 

"Vein?" asked Trouble, as he saw the image of his friend holographed over half his visor. 

"Ah, Trouble. Where are you? You're not at your apartment." Vein's voice was slightly accusatory, because, of course, he was seeing the video feed from the side of Trouble's helmet, which showed Beech's cluttered office. 

"I'm trying to get information. In Monomedia, with Wing Commander Vinyáya." 

Vein let out a low whistle at the unexpected, and Trouble turned his head slightly so that Vein would have a view of Vinyáya and Beech. "Well, you'd better get back here, Trouble. We've got someone in custody, an AAA Associative. They're willing to strike a deal and I need you for the paperwork. Let alone the questioning." 

"Thanks. I'll be back at the Plaza A-SAP, Vein." And Trouble pulled off the helmet again without a goodbye, because Vein had already turned away from his com-screen as well. 

"Ma'am? I need to get back to the Plaza. We've got an Associative in custody, he wants a deal. Not only do they need the highest ranking officer to give permission for any deal struck, but who knows how much information we can get out of the guy?" 

Vinyáya nodded, before turning back to Arthur Beech. "These screens have the entire databank on them, right?" 

"Correct, everything that has been published - or was censored so it couldn't be published - within the last 80 years. That Council of yours is very troublesome when it comes being censor-happy, you know." 

"It's not _my_ Council. If it were _my_ Council it would be far more organized. It's most often Cahartez's Council, and he wouldn't know sense if it danced naked in front of him wearing a purple feather boa." 

"If sense looked like that, I doubt anyone would recognize it for what it was." 

"Perhaps it does – I've never seen it myself – which is why so many people are unfamiliar with it." 

"Well, good luck, Captain, Lady Kathatríen. Nice for you to drop by when you need someone to use and abuse." 

"Stop whining, Arthur, you get well paid for a few screens." 

"And I thank you kindly for your generosity." He bowed, mockingly. 

Vinyáya gave Arthur a smile before moving towards the door. Trouble reflected his visor before moving after her – he was still wary of all the media was linked to. On the way through the main floor he passed by the pixie with the dark roots again. She was trying to think up a good headline for her article and was asking a neighbour for an opinion on "_Infiltration: What we can't see but can still hurt us._" 

* * * * *

It was about 5:30, only an hour dark, when Holly, after a meal of chickpea soup that Artemis had made her eat exceptionally slowly - although as soon as it had been presented to her she had felt the extreme hunger that had been hidden since she had woken – took off with her Commander's discarded wings towards the South West. It was dangerous to be flying this early, but it was already very dark, clouds hiding the light from moon and stars – perhaps it would be a white Christmas for the Mud Men? And she was being careful to bypass traveling over any towns or busy areas, only fields and the occasional bare access road up towards a farmhouse. 

She would have waited a while longer before flying out to the oak-tree, but as soon as she got back they would be traveling on to E3, which was quite a few hours drive from Kildare, being reasonably close to Sligo in the North-West. E1 was out of action, and due to a Celtic Football match in Wexford that evening the area around E2 would be packed with Mud People. She'd just have to be careful that she wasn't seen, especially in these days of digital cameras and powerful flashes. 

She was flying slowly, reveling in the feel of the air, chilled and polluted with peat fire smoke that was bellowing out of chimneys all over the county. The wings were good ones, the best pair that had been left after the Goblin Uprising - they had been appropriated by the Commander, so of course they were, because ordering people about and getting preferential treatment was one of the only perks of high command. 

She didn't think of rebellions and the reversions of. She didn't remember when Frond had been anything other than a name, a name that was more related to Corporal Lili Frond in her mind rather than a royal family, if Holly were honest. 

Instead she wondered how much of the Book could possibly be true, because it was unreasonable – silly really – that any of it was. Who really _believed_ in it anymore? It was outdated, the rules belonging to a world which no longer exists. Who did believe it? No one that Holly knew, that was for sure. 

_But that's not true, is it?_ whispered a part of her mind that she had never really liked, because it always made her do things which she was desperate to ignore. _Beetroot believes in it, because otherwise how could he have remembered the stories about the magic. Magic that saved my life._

But no one of Holly's generation believed in the Book. None. Not a Person. There was no reason to - they had science, technology, knowledge of evolution and physics. Though… maybe her generation were the ones who were wrong, even though they were young and cute… 

It was a rather odd thought to think at all. It is always hard for the young to admit that perhaps their elders know a few worthwhile things. 

She spotted the river – only a stream really – and followed it, hovering ten meters above. And there was the oak tree, its branches old and trying, the roots sinking into the earth quite deep. There was a mark of bright spray-paint on the side, and a Lucy had proclaimed her undying love for the initials HJ with carved words into the tree's side. Trees don't last forever, and love certainly doesn't. And the world as we know it changes far too quickly. 

She picked up an acorn, feeling a momentary _déjà vu_ as she remembered the hypodermic dart flying over her bent back. She held it in her hand for a moment, a comfortable memory, a familiar weight. And then she bent down for another, because Foaly's closed-acorn unit idea had been a fantastic one that had saved her trigger finger. She still had the remains of the broken Plexiglass on the chain around her neck where her barely-read Book resided. She would need another soon enough. 

She took to the sky yet again, wondering if she should dare try to break her Commander's airspeed record. It was probably safe enough, moving fast enough would mean that any Mud Men had less chances of seeing her flying form. And she was fine, even after three days unconscious and on death's door. All she needed was a little exercise. She'd plant one of the acorns when she arrived back at Brambling Hall. 

17.9 kilometers between here and the house, read a little device on her locator. After some quick calculations with the aid of her visor she realized that she would have anything less than six minutes to get back if she was to break the record. 

She pressed the button to lower her visor and decided to move very fast. She set the timer in her helmet. 

She flew. And arrived in 5 minutes and 56 seconds. She'd averaged 181 km/hr. 

"Wow." She said to the cold night. "That was cool." And that didn't seem to be big enough to describe it, it needed words that were larger and meant far more. "Fantastically amazing." 

She smiled, grinning from ear to ear actually. She barely remembered to bend down to the earth beside the door and make a small hole for the (slightly sweat-coated) acorn. She planted it, murmuring words that she had been trained to say but barely thought of now as she recited them: "I return you to the Earth and claim the gift that is my right." 

And waited the second it usually took for the magic to come rushing up her arm, filling her with power. And waited another second. Nothing happened, nothing at all. Then, finally, a solitary few sparks made their way along the soil to her arm, disinterested, lazy particles. 

She forgot the thrill of the flight, forgot the elation she had felt when she had glanced at her timer. The magic was gone. She'd lost her magic and she couldn't get it back. Her stomach twisted, her breath caught at the thought. What would she ever do if she'd lost her magic for good? She'd lose her job because she wasn't able to shield, she'd be shunned from society… She wouldn't be a fairy anymore, not really. She'd have to come up a live on the surface, pretending to be a photosensitive human dwarf who had an irrational fetish for wearing hats. 

Someone powerful was not on her side recently, that much was for sure, so judging by her luck she'd end up selling favours to seedy old men. 

And to think she'd thought her lot couldn't get any worse when all she'd had was a double life-bond, which was sort of like a worse and more total form of a mortgage. She had been alive for that bond to exist, and that was always a good thing… But now, without her magic… And the bonds to Artemis and the Commander would not even let her commit suicide if things ever got bad enough. 

What was she going to do? 

What _could_ she do? 

She looked down at her slim nut-brown fingers. Why had her magic disappeared? Was it _allowed_ to do that? 


	18. Knowledge is Power

**Disclaimer:** Artemis Fowl and his various cronies/enemies/'love interests' (according to everyone who ships Holly/Artemis) from Canon do not belong to me or mine.   
**Author's Note:** My apologies for taking so damn long with this chapter; last I really wrote of it was in a hotel room in London, where Lionel (my laptop) crashed. Without Lionel for the next few weeks I rather lost track of BoaF, and I most definitely lost the roll I'd been on up to London. Lionel's going into retirement at my Dad's work this week, I'm going to get Dad's current laptop instead, a fellow named Lex (can anyone guess where I'm getting my laptop names from? *grin*) and so things should all be good. Except for my chronic procrastination factor.   
And Ivycreeper, Holly's line is in Irish, but probably reasonably wrong grammatically and everything, because my Irish dictionary is not the most comprehensive thing around.

**Chapter Seventeen  
** Knowledge is Power 

_"Magic only appears when and where one least expects to see it, otherwise it would not be magic."_ -Anon. 

The journey to E3 through the counties of Kildare, Meath, Westmeath, Longford, Roscommon and Galway was as uninteresting as you'd expect of such a drive across rural Ireland. When they passed a road sign pointing towards the N2, the road they would be taking if traveling to Tara Station, both fairies fell silent, a delicate balance of grief and bubbling anger surfacing. Of course, there were other added dilemmas due to nine-year-old Jacaranda Brambling being awake, and now faced with living, breathing proof of her own fantasies. That type of thing can always make things interesting; thankfully, it doesn't happen very often. Proof of belief adds the expected unexpected to any equation, especially with a young girl. 

Root was the one faced with the task of calming the Mud Girl - answering her questions and ignoring her prods - with little help at all from Holly. And the Commander didn't ask for Holly's input, because there were times – such as the past few hours – where she was the "crazy girly captain" to even her Commander, who generally had quite a lot of control over Holly. As much as anyone could ever have control over Holly Short, anyway. 

Root didn't really mind; he appreciated the brilliance and clarity of a curious child. And the questioning and prod dodging gave him purpose for the hours of transit across Ireland. 

"Why aren't your wings attached to you, fairy? How can you fly if your wings aren't attached?" Jac asked, lightly touching the mechanical wings lying across the Commander's lap, afraid that they would be too delicate for human hands and fall to pieces like a dream. 

"Because my real wings were eaten by a huge dragon when I was fighting him. Fighting him in a battle to save Haven, the fairy city. I had to get a pair of mechanical wings to fly with after that, I just attach them with the straps." 

"Like Long John Silver's wooden leg?" 

Root's look of puzzlement showed he had no idea who Long John Silver might be, but he knew the idea of a prosthetic leg. "Yeah, like a wooden leg." 

Jac leaned closer to the Commander, so as to be able to whisper into his ear, but not speaking nearly soft enough for the whispering to actually serve any purpose. "Why's your daughter so cranky? Is it because the dragon ate her wings as well?" 

"My daught—? Ah, Holly." Root clanked over at the Captain, who pointedly stared out the window at the dark hills. "No, her wings were taken away from her by the fairy king because she was being too grumpy even when she had them." 

Holly turned towards her Commander and the girl, glaring with all the force of someone who has been eavesdropping on other's opinions of their faults. "I never had my own wings, Mud Girl. I was born without wings, as was Root. And the People do not have a 'fairy king', only a bunch of old foggy fools who lie too much and generally do troublesome things." She pointedly didn't look at Root at all, keeping her eyes on the girl in an effort to intimidate her, although her words were intended to chastise her Commander. 

Jac moved closer to the Commander, taking more care with her whispering this time, glancing over at the back of Holly's head, turned towards the dark, midnight fields again. "I can see how the King would have taken away her wings." Root grinned. "Imagine not believing in fairies even when you are one!" she continued. "It's silly!" She said, with the finality that children have when they know they are Right, capital R. 

"There are always silly people everywhere, miss. Always silly people, and not many of them believe in fairies at all." 

"Well, I'm never silly. And I'll never be silly at all. Are you ever silly, fairy? And what's your name? I'm called Jac." 

"I'm sometimes silly, but I try very hard not to be. And my name is—" Root's various names, titles, stations, ranks and accolades flashed through his head, including Beetroot, but he settled for that which was most right for that moment in time. "--Julius. I'm Julius." 

* * * * *

_--Basil was lying on the rather grimy carpet when Jason stepped over the threshold. "Basil?" he whispered. Moving through the small apartment with the care that People naturally adopt when grief or tragedy hangs in layers of thick curtain throughout the area; it takes extra effort to wade through the thickly laden air, churned into grief-flavoured cream. than it would usually take; to push into grief where you are not wanted is not a task for the weak of constitution. Jason found Basil, who was looking up at the ceiling as though it had mysteries of the Universe mapped out every 4:42 am and he didn't want to miss a moment of it. Jason knelt down beside his... comrade? friend? Associate? …Finally, he decided that he was here, he had the right to be here, as one of only three others who knew the truth about how and why Basil's lover had died. Although, if that made him an enemy or a friend Jason didn't know. _

"Basil, I don't think you should be staying here alone. Don't you have any family you could stay with? You could stay with me if you need to." 

"I like it here." The room around him was a mess: there would have been clothes thrown everywhere, if only Basil had changed clothes at all in the past 5 days. There was a plate of something half-eaten on a coffee table, and it was covered with flies, the potatoes turning a sickly grey colour and sporting disfigured lumps of mould. The disk player had a piece of plastic broken off it - Basil had thrown it at the wall once its batteries had run out of juice because he wasn't able to listen any longer to the horrible Country-Western disks Cypress had loved, and it had been such a waste of time arguing over that damn music. 

Basil rolled over onto his side, facing the pixie. It seemed to take an extraordinary amount of effort to do such a simple task. "Do you know what's worst, Jason? I had to go to Willow and William's place the next day, pretend I'd fobbed Cypress off for an hour with a lame excuse. People asked me if I thought Cypress would like the presents they'd got him. And he would have liked some of it, even the book from his Aunt. And I had to pretend that everything was normal, and it wasn't. But it was, because it wasn't too hard to pretend at all, because I'd done it so often. It wasn't hard to go on for hours before I was allowed to cry, not as hard as it should have been. It was selfish, because I shouldn't have been pretending at all. I should have gone to the LEP, whatever the consequences I would have had to face. It would have been the noble thing to do." 

"Quentin--" 

"I don't care a jolt about Quentin! I bet he wants me back there, doesn't he? He sent you to check on me, to see that I wasn't going to do something stupid after he killed the man I loved." 

"He didn't, Bas, he didn't order me over here." Basil didn't point out the differential in terminology, he knew that Quentin didn't need to order someone most of the time; most fairies found knowledge that his suggestions weren't negotiable rather quickly. 

"Go away, Palm. I want to wallow in my own filth for a little longer. Your presence is not appreciated."— 

Basil came out of his almost doze when the door to his cell clanged against its railings, the tracks it ran on being very well oiled. The sprite who came in – one who he'd seen from afar as he was brought into the Plaza, and had recognized as calling the shots – was really rather excited, but hiding it all under a cracking layer of calm indifference. The elf behind him gave Basil a slightly apologetic, mostly tired smile at the unnecessary dramatics of the cell door. And the woman beside him was as unreadable as ever they come. 

Basil stood, nervously, not quite sure what he was supposed to do now that he was here. He inclined his head towards the three. 

The elf spoke first, after pointing an infrared remote at the camera mounted in the corner – turning it on or off, or doing something else altogether Basil didn't know. "I'm Captain Trouble Kelp, currently Commander-in-Absence of the LEP. This," he indicated the sprite, "is Captain Christopher Vein, in charge of all LEP Intelligence divisions. And the lovely lady on my right is a Kry'rae diplomat, Lady Vinyáya, a member of the Council. I hope that since you now know who we are you'll extend the courtesy." 

"Somehow I doubt that you treat all your prisoners in this way, Captain." Basil replied. "My name is Basil Rune. I am… legally dead, but before that I was included in the advisory soviet of Quentin Thyme. Part of the highest band of the Anti-Atlantis Association hierarchy, for all extents and purposes." 

Vein let out a low whistle that Trouble ignored. "And are you willing to co-operate with the LEP in our efforts concerning the AAA in return for asylum?" 

Basil nodded. 

"And why would you do that?" Asked Vinyáya, glaring at him with suspicious eyes. 

"Lady, you must understand, I'm not the only person who's willing to give up all the information about the AAA that they have. I'm not the only one, not by a long shot. But it's impossible to do anything because of Quentin. Well, almost impossible. I faked my own death in the E1 bombing so that I would be able to come to you." 

"Why?" 

"No one joined the AAA because they wanted to kill innocent kids going up for some moonlight. It was a lark, it was just one of a long list of 'cool' groups to become part of. It wasn't extremist when most of us joined; it was a joke. Who you knew, how radical you could pretend to be – that was how you were defined at age 60. I joined in order to pretend to my friends of the time that I was like them, and because they already suspected me of being 'a dirty rotten queer'. There's nothing like joining an extremist terrorist group because of peer pressure and that insane urge to be normal and fit in." 

"How old are you, Rune?" Trouble asked. 

"Eighty-five." 

"And what do you get out of betraying the AAA, and this Quentin you've mentioned?" Vinyáya leant back on her heels, looking Basil over. 

Basil didn't flinch at her scrutiny, and Vinyáya thought that reasonably impressive, because she was trying to make him flinch. "Peace of mind. Peace." He gave a snorting mockery of a laugh. "And an extremely inadequate and ultimately useless form of revenge that probably will not make me feel any better at all." 

"Revenge for what?" She continued. 

"He killed my lover." 

"Romantic." Intersected Vein. "How about the important stuff. How much info can you give us?" 

"A lot, I suspect. I was hated within the AAA – People who hate Atlanteans for no reason hate homosexuals for a lot of often spoken reasons - and for that reason Quentin told me more than he would others – I wasn't going to take his power, because no one would let me. I was safe, where many others would be liabilities. Even if I had ambitions I would not be allowed to act upon them, while others were potential threats to his leadership." 

"Quentin Thyme is the leader of the AAA?" asked Trouble. Basil nodded. "Any other names you're willing to give us?" 

"Not all, only those who I know don't mind what Quentin asks them to do, and aren't being forced into it by some other means." 

"Any particular place Underground you'd like to visit? The tunnels under Japan, perhaps? Or Turkey? We'll be putting you up in Council-paid accommodation for the next while, Rune." Said Vein, after glancing at Trouble. 

"Do you have a location for Thyme?" Asked Trouble. 

"Yes." 

Trouble let out the breath it seemed he'd been holding in for years, but probably only since the attack on E1. "Great." 

* * * * *

A stiff breeze increased the chill factor of the winter air, as they finally stopped and waited outside the car for a message or shuttle from E3. Holly rubbed her hands up and down her arms in an effort to keep warm, and she appreciated the wonder of Foaly's microfilament suits with heating coils in a way she hadn't before. Why did all these places Above have to be so cold? 

Root didn't sidle up to her – because he was her Commander; he didn't have any right to be sidling – but he didn't exactly storm up to her directly. "Holly?" he almost-whispered. She grunted, staring at the turf-covered hill that was the E3 fairy fort, wishing it open. "What's wrong?" 

Another grunt, setting her will against that damn turf so it'd just _open_ already. 

"Captain Short, answer my question!" 

She glanced over at her Commander and felt instantly rather guilty, although not for any real reason, just general guilt of a lack of truth. 

"Is it the Life Bond?" She felt herself nodding, but she turned back to stare at the ordinary-looking hill. She couldn't have this conversation looking at anyone. "I can feel it too, Holly. And, well, I know what it feels like, the responsibility and the lack of control." 

She had to keep staring at the hill; the Bond left her with so little self-control when it came to Root or Artemis that if she actually _saw_ her Commander talking to her she wouldn't be able to stop herself from spilling her heart. "Do you?" She asked. 

"Yes. My life has been saved more than once before. Most of the Bonds I've paid back, though one only recently." 

"Who?" 

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" 

She nodded; the hill really was very interesting, she knew what it was but couldn't for the life of her see where the door might open up. 

"My first was when I was only very, very young – maybe 30 or 32. A friend – our butler – hid me with his family in the 1432 Frond Revolution. I managed to save his nephew during a riot just after I joined the LEP." Root breathed out, looking up at the stars and remembering the nephew or the butler, or the lost innocence of the Revolution. 

"And the recent one?" Holly's morbid curiosity would itch at her until she asked. 

"Ah, that one I'm sure you'll delight in knowing. It was eighty years ago, and I was Above on a mission in Ireland. The IRA was very active, and we had a group of civilians that were trapped in a disused fort with a firefight going on right above their heads – they'd been trapped for two days already. My team and I were sent in to try a diversion so they could escape, or attempt a rescue. We managed to get them out, but one of my team took a Mud Man's bullet that would have killed me. It was that night that I made the airspeed record, flying to E2 so that we could get a medic team up to save the man. He missed the birth of his daughter that night, although he was in the same medical centre." 

Holly was silent. 

"I didn't manage to pay him back before he died, but I looked out for his daughter since. And even now the debt has been repaid in complete, I'm still going to look out for his daughter." 

"My father…?" She asked, and Root nodded. "That's stuffed up. You save my life to rid yourself of the debt towards my father, and I get saddled with one towards you." 

"The debt was gone after I saved your badge after that disastrous Hamburg Affair. We can presume that if you'd lost your job it would have indirectly ended up killing you." 

Holly bit her lip. "I was a bit messed up after that." 

Root smiled, grimly. "Let's not dwell on the past. And you'll see, the debt will work itself out." 

She nodded, and noticed a darker line of shadow on the hill – that was probably the end of the hologram covering the entrance; they could never get them perfect. She wanted to say something about him having his magic while repaying his debts, but didn't. The shape of the second acorn was molded into her palm; she had been gripping it like death for hours now, fearing its uselessness. She needed to fly again. She needed her magic, or she'd never be free. 

"Commander, can I go for a fly for a few minutes? I need to clear my head, and we won't get any message for a while probably." 

"Of course, Holly." He handed over the pair of wings, and she adjusted the straps once more before swinging them over her shoulders. 

She flew in the direction of the hidden fort, trying to see the lines of hologram. She looked back at her Commander from a distance, he wasn't looking at her, rather staring directly over his head at the stars, probably remembering tales he'd been told as a child. She looked up at the stars as well, and remembered her father telling her that heroes become stars when they die, and how she had scoffed him because at school they'd just learnt that the stars were actually the ghosts of giant fires half the universe away that had gone out millions of years before we even see their light. Maybe her father was a hero though. 

The acorn's shape was smooth, familiar, and she could picture it in her palm with perfect clarity – the same shape as Root's acorns of office, of advertising symbols that littered the Underground; the shape of an award she'd gotten in LEPAcademy, and a different one she'd gotten in her first year of school, congratulating her on knowing her alphabet… She felt tempted to drop it to the ground, because what would happen if this didn't work? If her magic was really gone and it wasn't just the fault of the first acorn that perhaps she hadn't plucked correctly. It could have been the fault of words she hadn't spoken right, or maybe the ground had been only a thin layer of soil over concrete and not able to conduct the magic… 

She wanted her magic back. 

She looked back at the hill, and couldn't see the car with the sleeping Jacaranda and the probably squabbling Artemis and Brambling, nor her Commander standing ten metres from it. 

She flew to the ground and pulled off her helmet, in direct, purposeful violation of LEP Protocol. She knelt to the ground, and willed this to work as she dug her fingers into the peat to dig a hole. The acorn rolled into it, and she piled dirt on top. She rested her hand against the soil, fingers spread, and recited the words. 

"_Tabhair ar ais mé dul an domhan, agus éiligh an bronntanas sin mo ceartas._" 

The particles of magic danced along the peat in the most beautiful and appreciated waltz they'd ever danced for her. She breathed out a sigh as the first particles touched her fingertips and disappeared under her skin. The sheer _feeling_ of it was enough to make her laugh and laugh, slightly hysterical. She smiled and grinned and let herself fall back to lie spread on the ground, not caring about the dirt marking her clothes, touching as much of her body to the Earth as possible so she might attract as much of the dancing blue as fairily possible. 

Her breath caught as the final particles sank into her fingers and temple and made their journey to lodge in her abdomen and at the base of her skull like the most perfect of friends come back to stay and reclaiming their old rooms. 

Her magic was back, running through her body in that most unappreciated of ways that she now appreciated so much more, having faced the fear of having lost it forever. And she didn't bother wondering why it had disappeared in the first place because she had it back now. 

She made her way back over the hill on foot, her feet sinking into the thick peat and she didn't care at all that her boots were being ruined. 

She made her way to her Commander's side, grinning like a mad man. "Commander – Julius. I forgot to tell you," she mock-whispered in the silence of the early morning. "I broke your record coming back from the oak tree. 181 kilometres an hour average." She smirked. 

* * * * *

Vinyáya excused herself from the room while Basil was giving every ounce of information about the AAA that he could remember to Trouble and Vein. They'd already found out the important things, it was just that Trouble and Vein were held in place by the regulations and rhythms of Police Procedure, they couldn't just run when they had the most relevant information. And they didn't really know how to best use the information once they had it; they were far too isolated from politics to even think of what she was going to do with Basil's revelations. 

She called a friend of hers, he owed her a favour. And she still had that picture of his illegitimate daughter somewhere… 

* * * * *

By seven am they'd received word from the Underground and Trouble had told them that he was sending up a shuttle to pick them up. There had been some magma flare disturbance, which is why it had taken so long. 

Artemis decided to make a call. He got out of the car, breathing on his hands to keep them warm, and plucked his mobile from a pocket, searching through his address book to find the number of the Helsinki University Hospital. He pressed the green button to start dialing. 

"Would you be able to put me through to Angeline Fowl?" He said in perfect Finnish, with only a slight trace of his Irish accent. 

"We're not allowing any media contact with Mrs Fowl. She has requested that all persisting calls be diverted to her lawyer. Artemis Fowl is in a stable condition. Thank you for calling." Artemis' nose wrinkled in disgust. 

"I'm not part of the media, I'm family. Her son." 

"Oh. _Oh._ I'm so sorry, Master Artemis. I'll put you through right away. Your father's doing just fine." 

The woman on the other end of the line seemed to cause Artemis physical pain. He murmured under his breath, so that only Butler (who had followed him from the car) could hear him, "_King Timmy Syndrome…_". Butler grinned slightly. 

"Thank you, ma'am." There was a moment of waiting… 

"Mother?" 

"Arty, darling!" 

"Butler said that you called." 

"He did? I did? I… I don't think I've called you, but my memory sometimes plays up on me. You only left an hour ago. You said you had a friend you wanted to visit out in the city. Have you met up with him already? Are you coming back now? The doctors said that your father won't be waking in the near future so…" 

"I did?" 

"Oh, that's good darling. What did you talk about?" 

"Oh, nothing much at all. A wasted meeting really. I'm still here." 

"Is something wrong, Arty? You sound a bit strained." 

"No, no, of course not, Mother. I just had … It was a moment of _déjà vu_. It's nothing." 

"I worry about you sometimes, Arty. You're always doing strange things. And you don't have any friends your own age. Spending all your time on computers and in labs… It's not healthy." 

"No, I guess it's not at that, Mother. Although I'm here with a classmate from school right now. Okay, I'll … I'll see you." 

"When will you be coming back? One of the doctors wants to speak to you." 

"Um… I don't know, Mother. Sorry." 

"That's fine, Arty. I'm sure he can speak to you whenever you get back. Are you sure there's nothing you were calling about?" 

"Oh, no, nothing. Sorry for bothering you, Mother." 

"You never bother me, darling." 

"Good bye." 

"Bye. I love you, Arty." 

"Yes, Mother." 

Artemis hung up. He turned to Butler, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Either his mother was…or she… He opened his mouth yet again, about to speak, but then he figured it out and almost smiled. He looked at his watch, noting the time, adding two hours so it'd be Helsinki time. 

He put the phone away and moved back towards the car. There was an oppressive silence being held up by the occupants. The radio was still playing, sprouting out some horrible Christmas carol. 

"What's happened?" 

"There was a message over the radio, Fowl," said Liam. "Bombay has been bombed by Pakistan. They've declared war. And you know how long it'll last before the UN and America get involved, what with the threat of nuclear war." 

"Damn," Artemis said, running a hand through his hair. "Damn." He repeated. 

* * * * *

An elf who wasn't nearly nervous enough – he'd have to promote him – had just given Quentin Thyme the item that was sliding between green fingers. A small seven-pointed star, glittering with layers of white elaborate decoration; the jewels occasionally glinting, showing a multitude of colour within the white – the seven colours of the rainbow. 

He pocketed the trinket. 

He really would have to promote that elf. 

**Thanks to:** becca8, That Aerin, Simply Myself, Melbell, puzzelorjijsaww, darklight ascendant, flamaria13, Black Knight and Ides of March for your reviews since last chapter. 


	19. Drumming

**Chapter Eighteen  
**Drumming

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Summary:** Artemis, with the help of Commander Root, has managed to heal Holly and Jac from the biological agent that had been affecting them; he did this using magic belonging to the 'Ancients' - beings who had existed before the fairies, and had actually created them (in their spare time, because they wanted some soldiers for their battles). Underground, Kelp has received vital information from Basil Rune, who'd staged his own death in the E1 bombing so he would be able to come to the LEP. With this information the LEP is now able to launch an assault on the Anti-Atlantis Association, (the terrorist group run by Quentin Thyme) and Holly and Root (along with Artemis, Butler, Marcus and the Brambling siblings) have come back Underground just in time to join in the fun.

"_And what is Life? – an hourglass on the run  
__A mist retreating from the morning sun  
__A busy bustling still repeated dream  
__Its length? – a moment's pause, a moment's thought  
__And happiness? A bubble on the stream  
__That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought."_

- 'What is Life?' John Clare

Colm Mistflower was never called Colm by his 'friends', or at least not by anyone who shared the seedy apartment block in the wrong suburb of Haven, but druggies and mobsters hardly called anyone by the name of friend. Mistflower was no different. Oh, he wasn't addicted to any of the illegal drugs that the LEP barely knew existed, and he wasn't linked to any of the Barons of the Underground, but he wasn't much of a friend to anyone. If you called Mistflower a friend, then there was a lot you didn't know about him, and you must never have seen his business card:

Monsieur Mistflower

Odd jobs done

Any place, jurisdiction or motive

He had an arrangement with the Fairy Council: immunity from the LEP in return for whatever 'odd jobs' the Council occasionally had an urge to be completed. There had been a bit of confusion when a Council secretary was hiring a new maintenance man, but that mishap had been quickly cleaned up, surprisingly without anyone losing more than a reasonable (and eventually replaceable) quantity of blood.

Currently, Mistflower was on his way to an address scribbled on a scrap of recycled paper. There was an impeccable, comfortable grace in the writing style; the writer was not nervous or hesitant writing these simple words. He had met up with Lady Vinyáya in a temple in the better part of town, and she had said this job was particularly urgent, and that it must be completed before the LEP had a chance to ruin the situation completely.

If urgency was what she needed, then that was exactly what she would get. Mistflower always had a soft spot for the most attractive fairy on the Council, though it hadn't quite led to what he'd hoped.

How hard could it be to kill this fellow anyway? Fairies were pathetically easy to kill, and Mistflower knew it.

Julius laughed when Holly led the shuttle into a deserted, roped-off shuttle port. None of these ports had been in operation since the E1 disaster, so it hadn't been difficult to ensure that no fairy witnessed the humans arriving Underground. It was more difficult to ensure their safety and anonymity through the streets of Haven – some areas of the city were not pressurized, and there were always eyes peering from behind every fraying curtain. The LEP, it seemed, had arrived at a solution for this problem: a troll-carrier, the only way to transport the humans from E3 to the makeshift Police Plaza. This was why Julius was laughing.

A trembling Grub was squirming with excited nerves, jabbering with his own importance in the passenger's seat, next to one of Trouble's most highly trusted squadmates. The sprite saluted the Commander then rolled his eyes at Holly, gesturing with his head towards the inane Grub. Holly smiled, and Julius was still laughing. None of the others could see what was nearly so hilarious.

"Oi, Butler!" Julius called. "I should've known you weren't human." It still wasn't funny, but Julius didn't seem to notice.

The transport was huge, designed to hold a two-tonne bull troll. The entire chassis reinforced with a steel alloy (designed by Foaly's cousin) with a special electronic and analog locking system (designed by Foaly himself), and, most importantly, it was fully covered and opaque. No one would know they were carrying three Mud Kids and two Butlers through the center of Haven. The public might assume the LEP was transporting a troll, but the backlash from that would be merciful compared to what would happen if the knowledge of humans infiltrating the People's Lower Elements got out.

The humans, Holly, and Julius piled into the back of the transport, which had been hastily redesigned to seat seven (which meant they'd strapped a number of wooden crates to the sides and caused the small electric current that usually ran through the chassis to short-circuit). The trip was long but thankfully smooth due to the lack of traffic in the streets and the electromagnetic system the Underground utilized in the cities.

Trouble met them in the small docking area below the makeshift plaza. Until weeks ago it had been an unsuccessful Atlanteanean cafeteria that had jumped at the chance of a cash settlement for the dingy premises. Trouble saluted Julius by habit, and then gave the Mud Men a quick look-over also by habit (the Butlers getting more than a courtesy glance -Trouble still remembered the embarrassing bruise from the Fowl Affair that had taken weeks to fade).

"Commander, I didn't want to tell you this over the air, but we've got an AAA in custody. The information is flare-hot, and probably as explosive – or at least as powerful. Vein's putting together everything we know for a briefing, and I've got Hodder working on an offensive – that sprite's got a great eye for detail; he's wasted in an average squad." Trouble wasn't grinning with imminent success, as almost anyone else would be, but instead he was serious, his mind jumping like lightening from one aspect of the situation to another. Julius nodded, leading the way towards the stairs at a jog; Holly caught herself barely paying attention to the details Trouble was rattling off and followed Julius. Grub was left behind with the five Mud Men, looking around for direction.

"Commander," called Artemis, "I advise you to allow the Butlers and myself into these proceedings. If there's going to be anything unexpected in this assault of yours, it would be a seven-foot Mud Man with a large gun."

Julius turned back around, as if he'd forgotten the humans completely with Trouble's news – which he probably had. "Will I be wasting time if I talk to the Associative myself?"

"Probably," responded Trouble.

"Fine, no need to be repetitive then. Bring Vein down to… Damn, there are no proper interrogation rooms here, are there? Would it be easy to close off access to this area, do you think?" The driver-sprite thought for a moment then nodded. "Vein, Foaly, Holler—"

"Hodder."

"Whatever. Bring everything they need down here. And try to be discreet about it, Kelp." Julius paused, as if remembering something that had been at the fore of his mind anyway. "Is Foaly here?"

Trouble shook his head. "As soon as we told him you and Holly were coming back he would have held a nurse hostage until they agreed to release him, but he knows he's not fit enough to be back at the Plaza. He's not an idiot, sometimes. He's got a 24/7 video/audio connection directly linked into my office, the damn centaur, talking constantly and working with his free hand. Who knew that two days in forced bed rest would get him quite so agitated quite so soon?"

"Foaly?" Holly interrupted. "What's happened to Foaly?"

"Didn't you know, Hol? He was caught in the E1 bombing. He's fine; it wasn't even critical. A bit the worse for wear, but he'll be back at work in days. I'll get one of the techies to bring down a connection so Foaly can dominate the conversation, as per usual."

Ten minutes later, everything was as Trouble had said it would be. Vein, Hodder and Foaly (via a priority-one network link) were explaining all they knew to the group from Above.

Folay's unruly long hair made a creative splatter against the pale green of the hospital walls. In the peripheral view of the camera they could just see one side of the sling that looped under his belly and helped him to stand without strain. He whinnied in pleasure when he saw them all there.

"Holly!" he exclaimed. "I see Fowl's gambit saved your arse yet again, eh? Well, give my fondest thanks to the Mud Boy when you see him next; what would Police Plaza have done without that gorgeous backside to goggle at?"

"Shut up, Foaly."

"All I was doing was making my pleasure at your return to health known, that's all. I see you didn't even inquire about my own." The image of Foaly was grinning hugely, but the level of group-wide discomfort rose dramatically, freezing everyone into an awkward silence. "Shucks. Bad, eh?" He grinned. It faltered. He hadn't really felt like smiling anyway…

"I had a squiz at the records and recent surveillance of the area your prisoner placed the AAA headquarters at. It's a damn fortress. Huge layers of protection over the whole place, you wouldn't believe the levels of security clearance needed to access harmless data like interior temperatures. That should have ticked me off on its own. Some of the protection made me wonder if perhaps they had someone on the Council playing their game… The area is a mostly disused industrial district. There are some day-factories, but nothing residential. They have far more freedom of movement that way, I expect."

He coughed, adjusting himself in the sling. (Hodder and the techie looked away awkwardly as if the action was somehow rude.) "Now, here's the interesting bit: Lately there've been some enormous discharges of energy. Completely indescribably massive. Off the damn scales. I have absolutely no idea where such power could have come from – it's on par with the Mud Men's unclean nuclear reactions, but the patterns just don't fit the hypothesis of illegal nuclear. Now, here's the really, _really_ interesting part: When I saw these at the time, it was sufficiently significant that I was cleared of the security blocks in place. And I told Root to get someone to go look at it."

There was silence for a moment, as everyone turned to look at the Commander. "I agreed. I ordered Doyle and Biddulph to investigate it."

"They never went," Foaly announced. Root opened his mouth, but Foaly cut him off. "Or, more specifically, they never went because they never got the order."

Trouble was the one to speak their thoughts. "Could it just be a blip in your inter-LEP communication system?"

Foaly nodded. "It could be. But… well, either way it's a fault in my system. The problem is that it's _highly unlikely_ to be a naturally occurring error. More probable, and the consequences are huge, is that the AAA have someone on board who is _very_ good with computer technology. Sufficiently spectacular that they can overcome my security measures, which is verging on impossible since Koboi's handiwork. Either option is, quite frankly, disastrous."

"Are there any pluses?" Asked the sprite named Andriessen.

"I'm glad you asked." Foaly grinned. "I'm not totally hopeless. I have discovered a way to get a team into the AAA compound secretly, so we can get some level of security in place before you fly-boys get all pompous and lay siege to the place. Not exactly pretty, but it's better than climbing the sewerage pipe." Foaly looked away for a moment, down at something in front of the camera. "Hang on a second, I'll send through some files."

The sound of his typing was painfully slow and laboured, an awkward one-handed operation.

The image on the screen before them split, half showing dodgy blueprints of the AAA's building. "Okay," came Foaly's voice, "this is a map of the AAA warehouse. And this," lines of red overlaid the current map, spiralling in from the very edge, "is the lines of the circulation systems. And these," some of the red lines started to flash orange, "are the circulation lines that are no longer fully operational." Foaly scanned the faces of those on the other side of the video connection. "I think the Commander's got it."

Holly moved forward, bypassing the grinning Julius. She lent forward, tracing the orange lines with a finger. "They aren't complete, Foaly."

"By Rune's information the main chamber is…" Trouble moved forward as well, scanning the map, "here." He jabbed a finger at the screen, slightly east of the middle of the complex. "It's not accessible by the orange lines."

"I already have the solution. You'll have to take one of my techies. I recommend Wainwright. If you come in from the disused pipes to the south of the main complex, you can drop Wainwright off at this room here." A cupboard towards the bottom of the screen flashed yellow. "From there he can start working on collapsing the entire electrical system in the compound, as well as the circulatory elements. If worse comes to worst we can cut off all electricity to the entire zone, but that'll be very obvious and will cause unwanted attention from the media."

"Hold on, Foaly." Trouble interrupted. "Wainwright? You want to send _Wainwright_ into the field? Are your brains as squashed as a stink worm room-sharing with a troll?"

"It's the only solution; we need a techie on site. I'd go myself if it weren't for the nurses sedating me every time I look at the door."

Artemis listened silently, turning the idea over and over in his mind. Quite possibly he'd be even worse as a field officer than this Wainwright, although he would have the advantage of surprise and physical size over anyone who should find him. Artemis stepped forward into the scope of the video lens for the first time. "If you need a genius to work on their circuits, I'll go. You'll want Butler anyway, and the closer I am to Butler the further I am from harm."

"Don't be so stupid, Artemis," said Butler. "A fairy operative would be more familiar with the technology they're working with anyway; you'd be at a disadvantage."

"I'm _very_ familiar with the fairy technologies, Butler. I've been studying technology as of the Goblin Uprising in great depth. I've even got a prototype of an amazing device by human standards, constructed from technology inspired by the fairy tech I've had my hands on. It's going to make me very rich within a year."

Trouble sighed. "I don't know what's worse: the idea of my life being in the hands of Wainwright or Artemis Fowl." He turned towards Artemis, looking up at him. "We'll get you suited up and then we'll do the briefing. You'll be under my command, and will damn well do what I tell you to. Capeshe?"

__

_**COUNCIL MEMBER DEAD**_

_**Lord Peat Found Dead in Suspicious Circumstances**_

_In a bizarre and unexplained situation, Lord Joseph Peat has been found dead in a hotel bed. Although the results of the autopsy have not yet been made public, foul play is expected. _

_Lord Peat, the Dwarfish member of the Fairy Council, was working towards greater equality for all races of fairy People, and his thoughts on controversial matters had of late been too liberal for the more conservative members of the Council or Council Team to handle. He was known to be outspoken and a non-conformist, having a great deal of influence over changes made to the governing of the Lower Elements. Because of this he was not always popular, especially with rivals, and the strongly right-winged members of the People's Interspecies Government. This is, clearly, a motive for assassination in tighter Council circles. _

_It is thought that the suspected assassination was the work of someone inside the Council, as the LEP have uncovered evidence that it was because of a call coming from within the Council Headquarters that Lord Peat was present at the Shalibangs Hotel in Downtown Haven. Such an implication has disastrous consequences for the Council because, although the Seven Council members are most often seen as figurehead leaders for their species, real power does rest within Council hands._

_There are questions which all concerned People should be asking: Could a Council confidant have lured Lord Peat to the hotel in order to perform an assassination? Could such actions be the result of a Council-senate hopeful, 'thinning' the competition? Could such an attack be the work of a terrorist organization, such as the AAA, working with Council approval and support? Can we give such a government organization the support and resources to continue on such a corrupt path?_

_This event reflects a crisis situation that is facing Haven City and all the Underground. The 'leaders' of the People abuse their power and will go to any lengths to secure their position, and most of the time the public is not aware of this predicament. The Council is supposedly representative of each Fairy Species, although even from an unscrutinzing glace we can see this to be untrue: the last Centaur member was in 1847, and historically there has never been an official Goblin member since Alfonso the Mistake in the centuries following the Exodus to the Underground._

_There are many among us who remember (and partook in) the Frond Revolution of 1421. After the abdication of King Eathwod Frond, the previously ceremonial Council took upon themselves 'provisional administration powers'. There are those among us who believe that the Governing of The Lower Elements is, again, ready for change._

_We cannot trust our Council, as they cannot even trust each other. _

_What will be the fate for the Fey if our leaders are more easily corrupted than the short-lived Mud Men that infest our world's surface?_

Daisy Ventaglio_, reporting for _The Haven Times

Vein folded up the paper, disgusted that such an article had made it to the third page, only behind a pair of missing twin sprite-children and updates on the E1 situation. He dropped _The Times_ in disgust, and picked up _The Mirror _– at least written rubbish was to be expected from the brown elfin trash with 'Media and Communication' degrees that were employed there. After dragging his eyes over a fountain of substandard drivel about an invasion of violent, poisonous super-Gnats in the outer tunnels, wasting half a page under the dramatic title of '_Infestations: The Stinging Truth_', he progressed to skimming through the pages, passing dramatic, attention-grapping headlines like 'Miracle Treatment for Dwarf Fat Allergy Discovered', and 'Sue Anne With A New Beau?'.

He barely glanced at the headlines, still musing on the propaganda that he'd read earlier. He seriously considered cancelling his subscription. Who could imagine that _The Times_ could have been corrupted so easily? The answer was that it couldn't have been corrupted easily, and so there must have been a slow transformation to left-winged, revolutionary publications and he had not noticed it for years, probably.

Things had been coming to a head lately, and so probably his mind hadn't been alert enough to realize what had been right in front of his eyes. Who expects to read the formations of a revolution over their corn flakes and nettle smoothie of a morning?

Vein hadn't.

He dropped the paper in the recycling bin, then paused by the door and thought better of it. He fished it out again, placing it neatly on the corner of his desk. He'd have to show Trouble and Root what was happening as soon as they got back. He shook his head one final time before leaving the office, on his way to check the status of the operation from the Tech Rooms. And then, he'd have to face the press –gossip mongers who'd been audacious enough to print the shite he'd just read. Such were the thrills he was required to look forward to as 3IC of the Lower Elements Police.

Julius Root had put his foot down, as he was wont to do whenever he was feeling particularly (or even slightly) cabin feverish. He'd announced that he was coming, and although he would defer to Trouble in matters about the AAA (of which Trouble was far more knowledgeable), it was known by all that if Julius decided that they were to do something in the mission a particular way, that was the way it was going to happen. The upside of that, for Holly at least, was that Julius had agreed that she could be part of the team going in, as soon as Artemis had announced her fit for duty.

The clocks ticked over to 2500. (The Fairies had adopted the 26-hour day upon descending underground. The People naturally fell into a rhythm longer than the solar day when not guided by the sun or clocks, and so The Lower Elements had developed a system of 337 days, divided into only eleven normal months and one week of festivals around Beltane.) The team was arranged, surrounding the AAA complex of the old factory.

Trouble gave the signal, and two Recon officers flew forward, shielded and as silent as ocean currents. Holly motioned the first team forward – they were the first wave, a quick in-and-out to get Artemis to a position where he could disrupt the AAA's circuits.

In the darkened silence they moved, humming wings rippling the thin air, hastening forward. Artemis smiled, the thrilling adrenaline of fear and purpose running through his veins, making everything far more exhilarating. Butler moved beneath the fairies, as if to catch one if they should drop like stones from the air.

The opening in the life-support system was obvious… The task deceptively simple…

Who would have thought it could go so very wrong?

Mistflower looked up. Suddenly. He was used to looking down, waiting for his moment.

A darkness fell, the red lighting that had been dimly illuminating the corridors failed. Something was moving, and he couldn't see what. That shouldn't be happening, should it?

"Arr—" he choked out.

He swung his weapon round rapidly, firing indiscriminately.

Then the darkness was once again complete, without sinister shadowing. The silence was restored. The red lighting flickered back into place.

Mistflower was in no position to notice.

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Many, many thanks to Tyranny who did a marvellous beta job. It was lovely, though it did take me a while to figure out how to work the system, but a fantastic, superbly superlative system it was.

**RaevanDawn** – Well, even though this wasn't posted that soon, it was only the day after I finally read your review so… Please don't die; my third-party insurance doesn't cover stress-related heart failure.

**Wolfrat­ **- I still don't understand why someone would pretend to be the 'cusin' of an author who's not Cassie Claire and flame? What does someone get out of that? Seems like a waste of time.

**Nallasariel the Weeper** – Thanks for the constructive review, on a few notes:

I completely understand your comparisons between this and 42, in writing style and in characterisation. I go at the stories completely differently: in 42 I'm trying to cover 40 years, in this I'm covering days. In this the characterisation of Artemis is meant to be completely different; I'm currently formulating a background for Arty in the sequel which will explain a lot of inconsistencies you might see, especially about Arty not being a manipulative bastard. In 42 Arty a) doesn't have any fairy influence and b) has evil!Timmy's influence, so he goes at things differently than 13-yr-old Arty. Artemis's lack of scrutiny about these things will come to a (plot) point in the sequel as well.

The code was not well thought out, but each code within it was meant to be like the original Gnommish: different enough that an instant translation isn't feasible, but it is possible to make the links between them.

And, again Quentin will be expanded upon in the sequel. Frankly, he's just plain bonkers and always will be.

**The Rabid Canon Nazi** – I think the ages of the fairies throughout the books have changed (as has the organisation of the LEP ect), and these canon 'facts' aren't consistent. Root is middle-aged in Canon, at about 500/600 years, but elves in general are said to live for 'millennia'. I just make up whatever I like most of the time, so long as it doesn't contradict too badly.

**KANDK24** – Thanks for that.

**Nocena T. Calamus** – Many thanks for the comments you gave me, I really appreciate such great support for the type of fic this is. And also, the reassurances that someone appreciates an AF action/adventure fic which isn't slimy with Artemis/Holly 'romance' (I'm still looking for that ship done passably). Sorry for the lack of updates, Life caught me up.

'**identity's cusin'** – I don't understand you. You need some new way to get some kicks, I think, because your flaming is about as effective as lighting wet wood with bird droppings.

**Identity99** – Thanks for all the reviews, they made me laugh. You can be excruciatingly verbose when you put your mind to it, I'm flattered that you do that for me. (And go right ahead and borrow anything you want to.)

**FlyingPurplePig** – I'm glad you liked the latest updates, wait till you see what I do in the next few…

**Lady of Ikala** - You're the first person to guess where either of the names came from! gives you brownies for a prize

**Kandice** – I'm glad I brightened up four hours of your life, and that it wasn't a waste of time. (You do know that by definition FanFics are wasting time, though. I waste time with them at least 10 hours a week…)

**fudge is good** – this fic was written before TEC came out, so I decided to name Butler 'Romeo' for the incestuous pun it offered; I do know that the canon name is now 'Domovoi'.

**Liz-Beth37** – only two hours? You're the road-runner of readers!

**Simply Myself** – You jinxed it! You hoped the next wait wouldn't be as long and it's the longest yet… The entire thing should be finished by end of Feb though. Then onto the sequel, where the Lifebond becomes very important…

**Melbell** – Holly being without magic is more a hint towards things which are coming, rather than an opportunity for Holly to angst. The important thing was that it went, not that it came back… But I agree, magicless!Holly would have been fun to play with for another few chapters, but the story moved it forward unfortunately.

**Lessa3** – I've replied to this, haven't I? Hope you liked the later chapters as well as the first two.

**TheSpaminator** – Jac'll pop up a few times before the story ends, children are so much fun to write. And it's far more than a mere trinket…

**becca8** – I agree, far too many people don't balance dialogue and description, and it throws of an otherwise good story.

**The Toaster** – I imagine Root's immediate definition of 'baby sitting' would end up with one squashed-looking buba…


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